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LUCK ON THE WING 




Gen. William Mitchell, Commander-in-Chief of the Amer- 
ican Air Forces at the Front 



LUCK ON THE 
WING 

Thirteen Stories of a Sky Spy 



BY 

ELMER HASLETT 

Major, Air Service, U. S. Army. Distinguished Service Cross. 

Croix de Guerre Francaise. Recipient of two special 

citations by General Pershing for conspicuous bravery 

and exceptionally meritorious service. Operations 

Officer U.S. Air Service, First Army Corps at 

Chateau-Thierry and of First Army 

Observation Wing at St. Mihiel 

and the Argonne. 




NEW YORK 

E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 

681 FIFTH AVENUE 



Copyright, 1920, 
By E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 



AU Rights Reserved 

.Ha 






printed (11 the United States of H««ew<ea 



©GI.A565978 



D 



<~/ 



TO MY MOTHER 



SOME WORDS IN EXPLANATION 

If any one should be interested enough to inquire 
as to the reason for my becoming a sky spy, an aerial 
observer, a deuce, or whatever one chooses to call it, 
I should certainly speak the truth and affirm that 
it was not the result of calm, cool and deliberate 
thought. I have always had a holy horror of air- 
planes and to this day I cannot say that I exactly 
enjoy riding in them. My sole reason for flying 
now is that I am still in the Air Service and there is 
not an excuse in the world for a young man being 
an air officer if he does not spend a part of his time 
in that element. Every boy in his own heart wants 
to be a soldier whether his mother raises him that 
way or not: as a boy and as a man I wanted to 
be an infantryman. Upon being commissioned in 
Infantry following the First Officers' Training 
Camp, I was about to have a lifetime's ambition 
gratified by being placed in charge of a company at 
Camp Lewis, Washington, when along with two hun- 
dred other new officers I was ordered to Fort Sill, 
Oklahoma, for assignment with the Missouri and Kan- 
sas troops. I had been enthusiastic over the infan- 
try, I liked it fine, and most of all I wanted to 
train my company and lead them into action. Ar- 
riving at Fort Sill, we found that the troops had 

vii 



viii SOME WORDS IN EXPLANATION 

not arrived and would not come for at least a month. 
Meanwhile we stagnated and lost our pep. The 
papers were full of the pressing need of help at the 
battle front and still all around I could see nothing 
but destructive delay. It was the old call of the 
individual — for though my heart was set upon the 
ideal of training my own men for the supreme test 
yet I could not stand the delay. I was determined 
to get to the Front and with that as my paramount 
ideal, I would take the first opportunity that would 
lead to its realization. 

The chance came one morning early in September, 
1917, when one of my friends, Lieut. Armin Herold, 
caught me going out of the mess hall late (as usual) 
for breakfast and excitedly told me that the Divi- 
sion Adjutant had just tacked a little notice on 
the door at Headquarters, in response to an urgent 
request from General Pershing, that ten officers who 
ranked as First or Second Lieutenants would be 
detailed at once for training as airplane observers, 
and would be sent to France immediately upon com- 
pletion of their training. Volunteers were re- 
quested. That part about "training as airplane ob- 
servers' ' was Greek to me — I did not know that 
such things existed — but at the word "France" I 
pricked up my ears like a fire horse at the sound of 
a bell. My decision was formed then and there. I 
was going to be an aerial observer, whatever that 
was, and nothing was going to keep me from taking 
that chance, my first opportunity, to go to France. 

I almost lost my breakfast at the thought of 



SOME WORDS IN EXPLANATION ix 

having to ride in an airplane, but that promise to 
send me to Prance at once was an anesthetic to my 
better judgment, and I right away made my first 
flight, au pied, covering that ten acres of plowed 
ground over to the Division Headquarters in ten 
flat. I rushed in and made application. 

The Divisional Signal Officer was a Major who felt 
that aerial observation was an extremely technical 
branch. He did not know a terrible lot about it, 
and told me that he had placed the bulletin on the 
board only a few minutes before and was surprised 
that I had responded so quickly. He asked me a 
lot of trick questions as to my technical training, 
and now, since I have made a fair record as an 
aerial observer, I don't mind making the confession 
that I, along with other conspirators desiring early 
action, made several "for the period of the emer- 
gency' ? statements. The Major wanted to know if I 
knew anything about civil engineering. I told him 
I did, but, as a matter of fact, I hardly knew the 
difference between a compass and a level. He asked 
me if I got sick in an airplane. I flinched a little, 
but told him "No," the presumption of innocence 
being in my favor. He then asked me if I had ever 
ridden in one. I laughed so heartily at this joke 
that he was convinced that I had. The truth of the 
matter was that previous to that time if anyone had 
ever got me in an airplane they would certainly have 
had to hog-tie me and drag me to the ordeal. He 
then wanted to know what experience I had with 
mechanical engines. I told him that my experience 



x SOME WORDS IN EXPLANATION 

was quite varied and that I considered myself an 
expert on mechanical engines, having had a course 
in mechanical engineering. This was all trne, yet I 
do not, to this day, know the principles surrounding 
the operations of an engine, and if anything ever 
should go wrong, the motor would rust from age 
before I could fix it. 

My application was hasty and unpremeditated 
and I did not actually realize what I had done until 
I got outside — then, just as after the unpremeditated 
murder, the murderer will turn from the body and 
cry, ''What have I done?" — so I turned from that 
house with exactly the same thought, and as I walked 
back to my barracks I kept repeating to myself, 
"What have I done!" "What have I done!" 
The big question then was to find out the nature of 
the new job for which I had volunteered. The first 
question I asked of the two hundred officers when I 
returned to the barracks was: "What is an airplane 
observer?" No one present could enlighten me. 

I had volunteered for so many things in this man's 
army which had never panned out either for me or 
for any one else, that I was naturally apprehensive 
as to the result. Having in mind such dire conse- 
quences should the thing turn out, and yet hopeful 
of a more pleasant outcome, I alternately anticipated 
and naturally brooded a great deal over the thing. 

The next morning I learned that the telegram had 
actually been sent to the War Department at Wash- 
ington and that my name had been first on the list. 



V 



SOME WORDS IN EXPLANATION xi 

The package of fate was not only sealed, but clearly 
addressed, and I was the consignee. 

In a remarkably short time the orders came from 
Washington and ten of us were loaded in a Govern- 
ment truck and transported to Post Field. Of 
those ten Lieutenants it is interesting to note that 
seven got to the Front, and from those seven one 
can pick five of America's greatest sky spies. Every 
one of the seven was decorated or promoted in the 
field. They were Captain Len Hammond, of San 
Francisco; Captain Phil Henderson, of Chehallis, 
/Oregon; Captain Steve Barrows, of Berkeley, Cali- 
'fornia; Captain How Douglas, of Covina, California; 
First Lieut. Armin Herold of Redlands, California, 
and First Lieutenant "Red" Gunderson, of 
Spokane, Washington. These were the first officers 
detailed in the United States to "Aerial Observa- 
tion." 

The Observation School at Fort Sill was just being 
started and was yet unorganized, so after a very 
extensive course covering four weeks of about one 
hour a day, in which we learned practically nothing 
of real help, we were ordered to France for duty. 

After an unusually short stay in the S.O.S., or 
Zone of the Rear, we got to the Zone of Advance at 
a place named Amanty, where we were stationed at 
an observer's school, and, after a very incomx)lete 
course there, we were distributed among French 
squadrons operating over the Front, in order that 
we might get some actual experience, since the 
Americans had no squadrons yet ready for the Front. 



xii SOME WORDS IN EXPLANATION 

But a word as to the reason for this book. Here is 
how it happened. We were at this school at Amanty, 
hoping each day for orders to move us on up to the 
real front. It was in February, 1918, and one day, 
by a great streak of good fortune, Major Schwab, 
the school adjutant, picked on me as I was passing 
the headquarters. "Hey, what's your name!" he 
said, to which I replied, with a "wish-to-make-good" 
salute. 

"Here!" he continued, in a most matter-of-fact 
way, "you are excused from classes this morning. 
Take the commanding officer's ear, go down to 
Gondrecourt, and pick up three Y.M.C.A. girls who 
are going to give an entertainment out here this 
afternoon. Report them to me." 

This was an unexpected pleasure, so, with all 
pomp and dignity, I seated myself in the rear of a 
huge Cadillac, with "Official" painted all over the 
sides of it. It was my first ride in the select gov- 
ernment transportation — I had previously drawn 
trucks. Then we whisked along the ten miles to 
Gondrecourt. The surprise was a happy one, be- 
cause the three girls were peaches, and, an aviator 
being a scarce article in those days (and I wore my 
leather coat to let them know that I was one), I was 
received most cordially. 

We had just started back to the camp, and I 
was Hero Number One of Heroes All, when they 
all harped as of one accord, demanding if I would 
not take them up in an airplane. This is a feminine 
plea which never seems to become old, because every 



SOME WORDS IN EXPLANATION xiii 

girl you see nowadays still asks the same question. 
But I maintained silence on the subject of taking 
them up. So, they talked about aces, seemingly 
positive that I was one of those things — what a 
wonderful flyer I must be — and a lot of other bunk, 
until I began to feel exalted as if I were of the 
royalty, for it seemed that I was being worshipped. 

I interrupted their wild rambling to ask if they 
objected to my smoking. Of course, being a hero 
aviator, there was no chance for objection. So, as 
I unbuttoned my leather coat, threw back the left 
lapel, and pulled out a stogie from my pocket, the 
eyes of one cute little frizzle-haired girl fell upon my 
aviation insignia, which, of course, consisted of only 
one wing. Wild eyed and with marked disdain, she 
exclaimed sneeringly to the others, "Oh, he's only 
an observer! A half aviator!" 

Actually I had not claimed otherwise, but, as long 
as I live, I shall never forget the sting of those 
words, and especially the biting insinuation on the 
word "only." To their minds I was a branded 
hypocrite. Talk about the poor man standing be- 
fore the criminal judge and being sentenced to the 
impossible "99 years" in the penitentiary; well, 
take it from me, this was worse, for my foolish pride 
had been embellished to an acute cockishness by this 
preliminary adoration, but my soaring little air- 
plane of selfish egoism took a decided nose-dive — it 
smashed my whole day's happiness. 

The other girls, and in fact this little frizzle- 
topped girl, too, realized immediately the impropriety 



xiv SOME WORDS IN EXPLANATION 

of the remark, and tried in the most sincere way to 
temper the sting and alleviate my apparent em- 
barrassment. The only hollow remark I could offer, 
in my futile attempt at indifferent repartee, was to 
the effect that pilots would be aces always, and ob- 
servers, being the lowest card of the deck, must be 
deuces. They laughed — I don't know why — perhaps 
to jolly me along. I intended to say something else, 
but they took advantage of the necessity of my tak- 
ing a breath — by laughing — so I dropped the 
" deuce'' gag, but, as the conversation went on, the 
more chagrined I became. 

When we finally got to camp, I turned over the 
precious cargo to the camp adjutant, and then 
struck out for a long hike by my lonesome to walk 
it off. 

But, like an "ignorant idealist," heeding the call 
of the fair sex, I went to the entertainment that 
afternoon, and, as I left the hut with several other 
observers, we met the entertainers who were now 
walking along in company with the commanding 
officer. Of course, we all saluted, the commanding 
officer sloppily returned it, and the party passed on. 
Then this same little frizzle-top, red-headed girl, as 
if by afterthought, recognized me, turned around, 
and begrudgingly nodded as if meeting a disgraced 
member of the family. She disdainfully called the 
attention of the commanding officer and the other 
girls to my humble presence by saying, "He is the 
observer that came out with us in the car — you know 
the ' deuce/ " and, I might add, she laughed lightly 



SOME WORDS IN EXPLANATION xv 

and shrugged her shoulders. I'll tell the world it 
hurt my pride, and I was off with all of womankind 
for the time being. I had labored under the impres- 
sion that an observer was some big gun in aviation. 
Believe me, she took it out of me. 

In fact, these two incidents with this young lady 
revealed to me for the first time the real insignifi- 
cance of my position as an aerial observer. A thou- 
sand times afterwards, when I still wore an ob- 
server's insignia, people would look at it and, for 
some psychological reason or other, they always 
seemed to say either by sound or facial expression, 
"only an observer." Even to-day, as throughout 
the war, the same haunting epithet follows the ob- 
server. In fact, in the American Expeditionary 
Force, we had an unofficial rating of military per- 
sonnel which classified the various grades as follows: 
general officers, field officers, captains, lieutenants, 
pilots, sergeants, corporals, privates, cadets, German 
prisoners and last aerial observers. And no matter 
which way one considered it, the aerial observer was 
the lowest form of human existence. For a long 
time he was not even eligible for promotion or com- 
mand. Indeed, in the game of war, he was the 
deuce — the lowest card of the deck — and the first 
to be discarded. 

So far as official recognition is concerned the 
observer is gradually coming into his own. After 
comparing the fatalities in the various branches of 
aviation, it is agreed as one of the lessons of the war 
that the observer has had a hard deal as have also 



xvi SOME WORDS IN EXPLANATION 

observation pilots and bombardment pilots. In 
recognition of this principle, the Director of Air 
Service in a letter of January 5th, 1920, in declining 
to sanction the word "ace," wrote as follows: "The 
United States Air Service does not use the title ' Ace r 
in referring to those who are credited officially with 
five or more victories over enemy aircraft. It is not 
the policy of the Air Service to glorify one particu- 
lar branch of aeronautics, aviation or aero-station at 
the expense of another. . . . The work of observa- 
tion and bombardment is considered equally as haz- 
ardous as that of pursuit, but due to the fact that 
the observation and bombardment pilots are not 
called upon merely to destroy enemy aircraft, it 
should not be allowed to aid in establishing a popular 
comparison of results merely by relatives victories." 
I notice that the Director, in spite of the nice things 
he said about the observation and bombardment 
branches of the service, has expressly referred to 
"pilots," which of course makes me peevish. But 
so it is. The Director undoubtedly intended to in- 
clude observers ; indeed, the observer is the man who 
does the shooting from observation and bombard- 
ment planes — but it is the same old story — the 
observer is so insignificant that he was just naturally 
overlooked. Indeed, an observer is only a quasi- 
aviator, as a friend with a legal mind once said — 
and after he used that word ''only," I hated him. 
And in public appreciation, they consider the ob- 
server as the deuce — the card without value — with 
no definite status, just an inexplicable freak habitat- 



SOME WORDS IN EXPLANATION xvii 

ing around aviation. The common acceptation of an 
aerial observer is a mild, passive, sort of a guy, who 
wears nose glasses, is mathematically inclined, and 
who, in battle, is privileged to run from the enemy, 
being, as it were, tamed and "too proud to fight." 

Thus, to present to the public a more consistent 
version of the real life of the observer at the Front 
in his various roles, and hoping in a way to dispel 
this very unfortunate public misunderstanding, this 
book of my own modest experiences as an observer 
is presented for consideration under the title "Luck 
on the Wing." 

Elmer Haslett, 
Major, Air Service 
United States Army 
Washington, February, 1920. 



CONTENTS 

Introduction by Gen. William Mitchell . . xxi 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Beginner's Luck 1 

II. Hardboiled 22 

III. My First Scrap 50 

IV. Brereton's Famous Flight 73 

V. Troubles on the Ground 99 

VI. The Wild Ride of a Greenhorn . . . 121 

VII. Eileen's Inspiration 139 

VIII. Down and Out and In 163 

IX. The Court of Inquiry 192 

X. Becoming Kultured 219 

XI. Escaped Almost 238 

XII. The Privileges of Prisoners .... 253 

XIII. "Coming Out" 276 



xix 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

Gen. William Mitchell, Commander-in-Chief of 
the American Air Forces, at the Front . Frontispiece 

FACING 
PAGE 

An Operation Room of an American Squadron at 
the Front, Showing Battle Maps, War Plans and 
Photographs 34 

The Village of Vaux on the Day Preceding the 
Battle of Vaux 74 

The Village of Vaux During the Battle of Vaux, 
July 1, 1918 78 ' 

Tanks Going into Action, and Tracks Left by Them 128 - 

Pagny-Sur-Meuse, Showing Prisoners Captured 
by the Americans at St. Mihiel 154 

A Captured German Photograph Showing Amer- 
ican Prisoners 200 \t 

Colonel Brereton, Major Haslett and Others 
Being Decorated at Coblenz 296 



INTRODUCTION 

Major Elmer Haslett has made a valuable addi- 
tion to the literature of the World's War in writing 
the volume to which these lines must serve as intro- 
duction. 

"Luck on the Wing" has two distinct sources 
of value: first it presents a clear, graphic picture 
of the life led by our fighting airmen during the 
three great actions in which American soldiers 
played so important a part — Chateau-Thierry, St. 
Mihiel, and the Argonne — and best of all the picture 
is a truthful one: and, second, it, all the more forc- 
ibly because often quite unconsciously, brings out 
clearly the lack of understanding of the functions of 
Air Service, a lack which in the final analysis was 
responsible for the greater part of whatever of dis- 
satisfaction and disappointment with this branch of 
the Military Service there existed in the American 
Expeditionary Forces in France. 

Since the Armistice there have been published a 
great number of books on the War, the majority of 
which have been the work of actual participants — 
of officers and enlisted men. But so far as the Air 
Service of the United States is concerned Major Has- 
lett has, in my opinion, in the relation in simple nar- 
rative form of some of the adventures he himself met 
with Overseas provided not only the most interesting 
story but one of the very few which the future his- 



xxiv INTRODUCTION 

torian will find of considerable value when he sets 
himself to the task of compiling Air Service History. 

"Luck on the Wing" is the story of an American 
observer. The claims to fame of the fighting pilot 
were early recognized in the World War. The Ace 
soon became a public favorite. The War Corre- 
spondents were quick indeed to realize the news po- 
tentialities inherent to the "Knight of the Air" and 
their dispatches made the world familiar with his ex- 
traordinary and ordinary adventures. The peoples 
of the World followed with the zest that the Amer- 
ican baseball fanatic follows the baseball victories, 
the scores of the World's great Aces. But to the 
observer fame came in rather homeopathic doses, if 
it came at all. And most observers are willing to 
take oath it came not at all. 

That there were exceptions to this rule, that the 
very important work of the observer was not entire- 
ly lacking of official and public recognition, is a 
source of personal gratification to me because as 
Commander of the American Air Forces at the Front 
I personally knew and fully appreciated the great 
value of the work done by this class of Air Service 
officers. Major Haslett is deservedly one of the ex- 
ceptions. The variety of his war service qualifies 
him better perhaps than any other American Air 
Service Observer to write of Air Observation: the 
efficiency of his work is attested sufficiently by the 
fact that he was rapidly promoted from Lieutenant 
to Captain and from Captain to Major. His personal 
daring and courage, and the extent of both, need 
no testimony and indeed could have none more elo- 
quent than the citations he received and the decora- 
tions awarded him. 



INTRODUCTION xxv 

To say that this officer or that officer was the 
"greatest" fighting pilot or the "greatest" observer 
in the American Air Service overseas would, assum- 
ing that it were possible, and many hold that it is 
impossible, assuredly be improper ; but of Major Has- 
lett it may be said with entire propriety that the 
value of his services was certainly not exceeded by 
the services rendered by any other observation officer 
in the American Air Service. And it must always 
in after life be a source of great pride and satisfac- 
tion to this officer to know that he successfully exe- 
cuted every mission upon which he was sent up to 
the day that he was shot down far behind the enemy 
lines in the Argonne after an unequal but protracted 
combat with superior enemy forces. 

Few men even in the Air Service had so many 
and so astounding adventures as befell the author 
of "Luck on the Wing," and of these, fewer still 
lived to tell the story. In simple but vivid language 
Major Haslett tells in this book of many of his 
astonishing experiences. Life at the Front with him 
was just one adventure after another — from his first 
trip over the lines when he sat in the observer's seat 
in a French plane perfectly at ease and in blissful 
ignorance of a French battery's desperate efforts to 
signal him that there was a squadron of seven Ger- 
man Fokkers over him. Through this first adventure 
his amazing luck carried him safe (or was it a Divine 
Providence moving as ever inscrutably?). And this 
same amazing luck carried him safely through an even 
more remarkable adventure. While under heavy 
ground fire on an artillery mission he was thrown 
out of his "ship" but caught the muzzle of his ma- 
chine gun as he went over, and in some way managed 



xxvi INTRODUCTION 

to pull himself back into the airplane — and then 
completed his mission. But on September 30, 1918, 
even Major Haslett's luck deserted him and he was 
shot down and captured. The rest of the war he 
spent mainly in unsuccessful efforts to escape from 
German prisons. 

"Luck on the "Wing" tells of these adventures — 
and others. 

It is appropriate in concluding this brief intro- 
duction to tell of some of the work of Major Haslett 
overseas which he himself cannot well mention. Much 
of this officer's service at the Front was spent as 
Operations Officer. As such his duties did not re- 
quire him to execute missions over the lines himself. 
Major Haslett insisted always on doing not only the 
full share of such perilous work as would fall to an 
officer not in an executive position, but more. His 
argument to his commanding officer was that only by 
experience over the lines could an operations officer 
thoroughly master his work — a theory that he went 
far toward proving. 

Whenever ultra-dangerous work presented itself 
this officer was quick to volunteer. Major Haslett 
was more than an observer, he was a student of air 
operations. He was among the first of the American 
officers to prove that low flying over German trenches 
was not only possible but was a method of effective 
attack for airplanes. At the time that he was shot 
down he was engaged in working out the problems of 
adjustment of artillery fire on moving targets by 
airplanes — a question of prime importance in war- 
fare of movement. 

This officer during the course of his service at the 
Front not only contributed exceptionally distin- 



INTRODUCTION xxvii 

guished personal services over the lines and as an 
operations officer but he also contributed ideas and 
suggestions of considerable value in the development 
of Air tactics and Air strategy, and as I have men- 
tioned before he had the proud record of successfully 
executing every mission which he undertook during 
his entire service at the Front with the single excep- 
tion of the mission he was on when he was shot down 
by superior enemy forces. 

With entire frankness Major Haslett has told the 
story of how he succeeded in getting an assignment as 
an observer and in later getting duty with Colonel 
Brereton's squadron at the Front. And by his own 
account he has shown with equal frankness that he 
had no hesitation in overcoming obstacles to this ac- 
complishment by any means that came to hand. Per- 
haps some of the fastidious may find something to 
criticize in this. But Major Haslett 's all-impelling 
motive was to serve his country by meeting his 
country's enemies on the battlefield. And it was this 
same all-impelling motive which gave inspiration to 
the personnel of the American Air Service, which 
brought to the Air Service proud achievement and 
dauntless courage in action. Service against the 
enemy is a good soldier's ambition. This motive car- 
ried Major Haslett to the very front rank of all 
American observers, and gave him the adventure of 
which he tells in "Luck on the Wing." 

William Mitchell, 
Brigadier-General United States Army. 
Washington, 

Feb. 24, 1920. 



LUCK ON THE WING 



LUCK ON THE WING 



beginner's luck 

WE had been up with the French Squadron for 
about three weeks and it had rained every- 
day or something else had happened to prevent fly- 
ing. We had a wonderful social time, but our flying 
had been so postponed that I actually began to 
think that the French did not want us to fly, prob- 
ably lacking confidence in our ability, so, one day I 
walked up to the Captain and by means of his im- 
perfect English and my perfectly inelegant French 
we managed to perfect some close, cordial and per- 
sonal liaison. I told him that we appreciated the 
long, drawn-out dinners and the very excellent qual- 
ity and quantity of the red wine and the white wine, 
but that actually we came up to take our first trips 
over the line and learn a little about observation. 
He shrugged his shoulders and said that he felt 
quite sure that we would be there for three or four 
months and that there was absolutely no hurry. I 
told him he did not know the American Army, for 
while I would admit that we had not shown much 

1 



2 LUCK ON THE WING 

speed up to the present time in getting squadrons on 
the Front, or in the manufacture of our ten thousand 
airplanes a month, or our five thousand Liberty 
Motors, at the same time, somewhere, someplace, 
somehow, someday, we were going to make a start 
and that I was quite positive that we were not 
going to have any observers unless the French got 
busy and trained some for us, and that in my mind 
we would be leaving mighty soon and it might look 
sort of suspicious on paper if we had been with 
the squadron a month and had never taken a trip 
over the lines. 

This sort of impressed the Captain and dear, old 
fellow that he was, he immediately ordered "Mon 
Lieutenant Dillard," who was his Operations Officer, 
to arrange for me to accompany the next mission 
over the lines, as a protection. This was scheduled 
for the next day. A French Lieutenant by the 
name of Jones was to do an adjustment of a battery 
of 155 's, and I was to accompany him in another 
plane to protect him from any attack by German air- 
planes. 

That night we played Bridge until midnight, 
whereupon we all shook hands, as is the French cus- 
tom, and departed for our various billets. My 
Bridge had been rotten — my mind was on a different 
kind of bridge : How was I to bridge that next day — 
What did it hold ? The night was chilly as the devil 
and as I picked my way in the darkness I could hear 
very plainly the rumble of guns and could see the 
artillery flashes very clearly, although the front was 



BEGINNER'S LUCK 3 

twenty kilometers away. I began to think about my 
first trip over the lines that was soon to come. I 
was mentally lower than a snake. I hadn't prayed 
for some time and I was just wondering whether 
or not I would pray that night. My solemn idea of 
prayer was that it was an emergency measure. I 
was always reverently thankful to the Maker for 
His blessings, but He knew that for He must have 
known my mind. I believed that God helped him 
who helped himself, but when the question was too 
big for man to control, then it was the time to in- 
voke the help of the Supreme Being. I was inclined 
to think this case was only a duty of war in which 
man should help himself. So, I had decided that 
I would go ahead and handle it as a man to man 
proposition, reserving invocation for a more serious 
situation, but as I was getting pretty close to my 
billet I heard a sudden noise that gave me a real 
thrill — a big cat jumped out of a box and ran di- 
rectly in front of me. It was too dark, of course, 
to tell the color of that cat, but the condition of my 
mind convinced me that it could be no other color 
than black and that it was an omen that bad luck 
was sure to come my way. When that cat ran in 
front of me my Man theory was gone, absolutely; 
I knew quite well that I was going to pray. 

I lay abed for fully three hours, going over in 
detail every piece of the machine gun, what I was 
to do in case of a jam of the machine gun, and what 
I was to do in case of stoppage of the gun. I was 
trying to picture in my mind silhouettes of the dif- 



4 LUCK ON THE WING 

ferent German airplanes that had been on the wall 
at school, and which I, to my regret, had not 
studied. Then I remembered reading stories of how 
poor boys were shot down, and most of them on their 
first flight, and I thought of airplane accidents and 
I thought of my girl. In fact, I had such a va- 
riety of thoughts that when I finally dozed off, that 
quasi sleep was a nightmare, and when from nervous 
and physical exhaustion about three-thirty o'clock in 
the morning I reached the point where I was really 
sleeping, I was suddenly shaken, and, of course, I 
jumped as if branded by a hot poker. It was my 
French orderly telling me it was time to get up to 
make my flight. I first realized the truth of that 
little saying, "There is always somebody taking the 
joy out of life." He was crying, "Mon lieutenant! 
Mon lieutenant! II est temps de se lever," which is 
French for "It is time to get up." I had a notion 
to direct him to present my compliments to the 
Captain and to tell him that I was indisposed that 
morning but I , couldn 't speak French well enough 
to express myself, so, there was only one thing to 
do and that was to make a stab at it. I dressed and 
took my nice, new flying clothes which I received 
at Paris, and hobbled the kilometre and a half out 
to the field. The crews were already there and also 
the other flying personnel. Of course, I put on a 
sickly smile as if to help things along, but honestly 
there wasn't much warmth in my hand-shake. The 
Frenchmen were all excited, standing around a tele- 
phone in the hangar and I found out from one of 



BEGINNER'S LUCK 5 

them who spoke English, that they were trying to 
get the balloon to find out about the visibility. This 
pleased me for my feet were already chilling and I 
was as strong as horseradish for each moment's de- 
lay. In a few moments the Lieutenant put the 
receiver on the telephone and with some sort of an 
ejaculation I saw the face of Lieutenant Jones, who 
was to do the adjustment, assume a very dejected 
attitude, for while these Frenchmen are the strongest 
people in the world for lying abed in the morning, 
yet they certainly hate to have their trouble in rising 
come to naught by reason of impossibility to perform 
the mission assigned and in this case I found that 
the visibility was "mauvais," or "no good." So, 
we just hung around. 

In a few moments one of the enlisted men came 
up to me and saluted me smartly, and mumbled a lot 
of stuff about "voulez vous" something, "voulez 
vous" being all I could understand, so I beckoned 
one of the Lieutenants who spoke a little English 
and he asked me if I wanted a "Raelt Saeul" or 
"ordinary open sight." I had never had a course 
in aerial gunnery and I did not know the differ- 
ence; in fact, my experience in machine guns con- 
sisted of two lectures by a guy who didn't know 
much about it, at Port Sill, the dismantling of one 
gun and about an hour and six minutes in an open 
firing butt at Amanty, Prance. I was afraid "Raelt 
Saeul" would be something technical, in which case 
I would certainly demonstrate my ignorance, and to 
my dazed mind ' ' open sight ' ' certainly sounded frank 



6 LUCK ON THE WING 

and on-the- square, so, of course, I just shrugged my 
shoulders and pointed as if I were perfectly familiar 
with both but under the circumstances I would take 
the "open sight. " They were both quite surprised 
and tried to open the discussion upon the relative 
merits of each, but I passed this up and made it 
emphatic that "open sight" it would be. I found 
afterwards that the "Raelt Saeur' was a great deal 
more accurate. So, they put the machine guns on the 
plane with ' ' open sight. ' ' I wanted in the worst way 
to get around and monkey with those machine guns, 
but I knew if I did I would certainly shoot some one 
up or kill myself, so I laid off. It was a terrible 
predicament; I knew I had no business going up 
and my conscience began to hurt me for the sake 
of the Frenchmen I was supposed to be protecting. 
Incidentally I must admit, in capital letters, that 
I had my own personal safety somewhat in mind- 
But it was too late — I had to go through with it. 
It was the proposition now of luck, and lots of it. 
We kept on with preparations ; it was still foggy. 

At nine o'clock we went in an automobile and 
got our breakfast, which for the Frenchmen always 
consisted of hot chocolate and a piece of bread, but 
for me it usually consisted of ham and eggs, and 
potatoes, and jelly, and bread, and butter and coffee, 
and as it usually consisted of that — as this was prob- 
ably my last breakfast it certainly would not consist 
of less this time. So, I hied me forth after having 
my "chocolate" with the Frenchmen, and gave my 



BEGINNER'S LUCK 7 

landlady her usual two francs, in return for which 
I had the repast above accurately described. 

We went back to the flying field and waited until 
about eleven o'clock. I had made up my mind that 
I was going through with it and the nervousness was 
beginning to wear off. About noon it got real cloudy 
and at twelve twenty-six and a half the first drop 
of rain fell. Believe me, the exhaust action of my 
sigh of relief was not unlike one of these carnival, 
rubber balloons when it is dropped in hot water. 
They, of course, called it a day, came in and had 
"dejeuner" and gathered around the Bridge tables, 
while Dillard played some very classical airs upon 
the automatic piano which this squadron carried 
with it. 

In the middle of the afternoon the shower com- 
pletely ceased, while Sol came out in all his magnifi- 
cent glory; magnificent I say, to the farmer who 
wants to till the soil, to the sweethearts who want to 
go on a picnic, and to the washerwoman who wants 
to dry her clothes, but for me, it was just like an 
April shower on a new silk hat — I lost all my gloss — 
for in a few moments "mon capitaine" came in and 
announced that he felt we could get the planes 
off the ground. We called up the battery and they 
were ready so we climbed into the automobile and 
went out to the field again. The mechanics rolled 
those two dilapidated Sopwith planes out of the 
hangars and gave those rotary engines a turn and 
they began to burr. That whirr and burr felt to 



8 LUCK ON THE WING 

me just like the whirr and burr of the dentist's burr 
that gets in the middle of a wisdom tooth and hits 
the nerve. 

The other two American student observers were 
out on the field. Phil Henderson, who always was 
the head of his class and very mechanical by nature, 
gave me a few added remarks about some technical 
points of the machine gun, how to do in case of a 
jam, etc., while Hopkins, the other American, jollied 
me along. It was the first time I had ever had a 
ride in a Sopwith. I do not know whether it was 
from the fact that I was not used to climbing into 
the Sopwith or that I did not know what I was doing, 
but anyhow I stepped on that one particular part 
of the fuselage which is supposed to withstand only 
wind pressure and as a consequence my one hundred 
and eighty-two pounds made a nice hole in the 
canvas. Of course the Frenchmen had complex fits 
but the pilot merely shrugged his shoulders as if to 
say that it wouldn't impair the flying qualities of 
the boat. I honestly felt that the tearing of the 
canvas was an omen that I ought not to go. But 
already the other plane was taxiing out to take off, 
and it was like a drowning man grasping for the 
last straw. They came up to see if I was fixed 
all right, I was fixed, and in more ways than one. 
I was holding on to the fuselage for all I was worth. 
Fortunately they noticed that I was not strapped in 
and so they proceeded to strap me. 

They said something about the "mitrailleuse" but 
the "mitrailleuse" did not worry me — I said it was 



BEGINNER'S LUCK 9 

all right. I did not know what they were talking 
about, although I afterwards learned that they meant 
machine guns, but what they wanted me to do was 
to shoot a couple of bursts into the ground to see if 
the guns were working. I tried to twist the tourelle 
(the revolving base upon which the machine gun 
turns) around to shoot in the proper direction, but it 
would not budge. The Corporal came around and 
pressed a little lever which released the mechanism 
and, of course, the tourelle turned just as easy as a 
roulette wheel. Then they told me by means of sign 
language to point it at the ground and pull the 
trigger. I did, but I almost broke the forefingers of 
both hands trying to pull the trigger. The pilot was 
getting nervous; I think he clearly saw that I was 
probably like the American airplanes that they had 
heard and read so much about — I was not coming 
across. The Corporal came around to determine the 
trouble. I shrugged my shoulders, French fashion, 
as if to say "q& ne marche pas," that is, ''it doesn't 
work," but lovely as that gun lad was he did not 
give away my ignorance but simply said "Vous avez 
oublie" — "you have forgotten something," and he 
proceeded to pull down the little latch on both guns 
which unlocks the entire mechanism. Then he 
stepped out of my way and I pointed the guns. 
Having, as I said before, almost broken both my 
forefingers trying to pull the trigger, I pulled in the 
same manner, force and fashion, and before I could 
get my fingers off of the triggers I had almost shot 
both of the magazines full. I thought those guns 



10 LUCK ON THE WING 

never were going to stop firing. The Frenchmen 
surely oil their guns and have a similar high strung 
technique in pulling the trigger that our high-grade 
artists on the piano have with staccato notes. I 
could see by the expression on the faces around me 
that they were indeed surprised at American meth- 
ods but anyway the guns worked, so I said "tres 
bien" and my pilot taxied the plane out, gave it the 
gun, and took off. 

This plane did not have telephones ; if it did they 
would have been useless, because I did not speak 
French understandably, and the pilot did not know 
a word of English, and we had not agreed upon 
any signs. 

The other plane had gained considerable altitude 
and after about fifteen minutes I was able to orient 
myself by means of my map and to know that the 
aerodrome was directly beneath me. We had gotten 
about three hundred meters above and two hundred 
meters behind the first plane. In a few moments 
the first plane headed due north and we followed. 
Over to my right I saw very plainly Souilly, which 
was later destined to play such an important part in 
the history of the American Army, being the Head- 
quarters of our First Army in the Argonne drive. 
In a few moments more I saw below me the shell-torn 
country and the two peaks known as "Hill 304" and 
"Dead Man Hill" — to the French they are known as 
"Trois Cent Quatre" and "Mort Homme"— which 
were so prominent in the fighting around Verdun. 

Only a few days before I had visited these same 



BEGINNER'S LUCK 11 

places on the ground and I had seen the myriads of 
human bones in that mighty cemetery which, though 
originally properly interred, were being continually 
brought to the surface by the constant and incessant 
artillery fire. I thought at the time how terrible 
it must be to live day and night in the trenches of 
that graveyard, knowing not but that in the next 
instant you, yourself, might be the one destined to 
replace the remains which, from four years of ex- 
posure, were crumbling into the dust. On that visit 
the thing that impressed me was the minuteness of 
the individual, for both German and French, though 
the deadliest of enemies in life, found a common 
resting place, side by side, in the same yard of earth 
for which they had given their lives to gain. 

While on the ground I had seen an airplane high 
in the heavens and I thought how much more won- 
derful it was to fight in that broad, open expanse of 
atmosphere where the extent of one's endeavor is 
not limited by a section of a trench, but only by the 
blue heaven, the reliability of the motor and the 
accuracy of the machine gun. It is strange how 
one's outlook can change. Man is the slave of tem- 
perament and romantic dissatisfaction. Excite him 
and he pleads for quiet, give him solitude and it 
becomes unbearably monotonous. I was enwrapped 
by environment. When in the trenches of that 
bleached boneyard the monotony and horror were 
agony to me — so many bones and those huge trench 
rats — I wanted in the worst way to get out of those 
trenches and back to the airdrome, to take my 



12 LUCK ON THE WING 

chances mid those silver-winged birds that floated 
so gracefully above. But, when I actually got over 
this same graveyard at six thousand feet altitude 
that same picture again entered my mind. I knew 
I would soon be crossing the lines. I began to think 
of the terrible fall of six thousand feet before hit- 
ting that cemetery, and then I thought what I would 
look like after I did hit. In fact, cold shudders crept 
through me like a continued electric shock. For 
once I was downright scared and if I could have 
changed places with the stalwart guardians of those 
trenches in the rat-ridden graveyard beneath I would 
have run for the opportunity. I would, at least, 
have something solid to stand upon. 

We were going straight toward the lines and di- 
rectly in front of Hill 304 and "Mort Homme." 
They stood out extremely clear and plain. The per- 
petual shell fire had left its mark for while the sur- 
rounding country was green with vegetation, yet 
these two hills bulged forth, bald and barren. Hill 
304, or "Trois cent quatre" was the worse. It had 
nothing growing on it at all. In fact, it was so bad 
that one of the polite, French jokes on a bald-headed 
man was to call him "Trois cent quatre." After 
flying parallel to the line for a few minutes we 
turned back toward our own lines. I determined 
that the French observer had found his target and 
would soon be calling his battery. 

This trip was a complete surprise because I under- 
stood from my meager instructions that even when 
crossing the line the enemy anti-aircraft artillery, 



BEGINNER'S LUCK 13 

commonly called "the archies," would certainly open 
fire, but everything was calm and peaceful — except 
my mind. I looked at my map to find where the panels 
were displayed. Panels are large, horizontal strips 
of cloth which are placed on the ground in various 
symbols near the battery and are used as a means 
of communication between the battery and the air- 
plane. The airplane communicates with the battery 
largely by means of the radio telegraphy, but as it 
was not practicable to receive the radio signals in 
the plane from the ground, we used these panels. 
Among the signals formed by these white panels, 
which are quite clearly discernible from the air, are 
those meaning that the "Battery is ready to fire," 
"Battery has fired," "Fire by Salvo," "Change 
target," and many, many others including the signal 
"There is an Enemy Plane near you," which is the 
most dreaded panel that can be displayed. I might 
incidentally mention that there is another panel 
which means ' ' There is no further need of you ; you 
can go home." Now this may not have a great 
deal of significance to the average layman, but IT1 
say that when the sky spy has been tossed about 
for a couple of hours on the archie billows he joins 
the union which says that "go home, you're fired" 
is the greatest little panel of the whole panel alpha- 
bet. So, in a few minutes I picked up the location 
of the panels and I had a little chart on my map 
board showing the meaning of these many panels. 
I had had some instructions upon them while at 
Observation School, but I had depended on crossing 



14 LUCK ON THE WING 

the bridge only upon arrival thereat, so I did not 
pay a great deal of attention to them. The descrip- 
tive chart on my map board interpreted the panels 
in French so I was not sure that the chart would 
do me any good after all for my knowledge of tech- 
nical or any other kind of French was less than 
meager. I saw the panel "Battery is ready," and 
then the plane headed toward the lines and in a 
moment the panel changed to "Battery has fired," 
so I looked over in Hunland but I could not find 
where the shells had hit. In my mind they were 
hitting everywhere so how could I pick out the par- 
ticular ones that Jones was directing. In a moment 
I again saw "Battery is ready," and again I looked 
directly toward the supposed target. Suddenly I 
saw four shells strike real close by and my vigi- 
lance was rewarded for I was to witness an actual 
adjustment of artillery fire against a real enemy. 
Then I took a genuine interest in the adjustment 
and paid very close attention to every detail. In 
fact, I was so attentive that I was oblivious to the 
fact that my mission was to protect the leading plane. 
Delving into this new game I indulged in certain 
psychological conclusions which took my mind off of 
the thing that had been troubling me; namely, the 
unpeaceful condition of my mind. This was most in- 
teresting. They had fired about six or seven salvos 
and were coming very near to the target, which was 
a cross-road. I thought it must be a wonderful ob- 
server to guide the battery with such unfailing 
accuracy and I looked forward to the time when I 



BEGINNER'S LUCK 15 

too might be a genuine sky spy and with American 
batteries seek out the enemy and destroy him, for 
after all was not the position of the aerial observer 
one of the most dangerous of the army, the spy — 
for his greatest mission was to find out the inten- 
tions of the enemy and if he succeeded in bringing 
back the information without being seen all would 
be well, and if he was seen it meant he had to fight 
for his life. Like the spy he, too, lived within the 
lines of the enemy. 

This was the gist of my thoughts when I suddenly 
looked down at the panels and saw a huge "Y" dis- 
played. I did not pay much attention to the "Y" 
but I saw Jones' plane taking a steep spiral toward 
the earth. I did not call the attention of my pilot to 
it because I thought "Y" was something usual, 
meaning, perhaps, that the signals were not under- 
stood so Jones was going down low to get closer to 
the battery in order that his wireless could be heard, 
but Jones kept going right on down near the battery 
and finally kept circling around close by at about 
three hundred feet altitude. I looked around and 
did not pay any great heed ; I thought Jones would 
soon climb up again. In a few moments I saw the 
battery take in their ' ' Y " and put it out again ; take 
it in and put it out, as if to attract my attention. 
Then I saw them running back and forth with in- 
dividual panels in different directions, which had 
a sort of cinema effect. Then they brought out 
double panels and made a great, huge "Y." Then 
I thought "Y" must mean something if they were 



16 LUCK ON THE WING 



making all that fuss about it, so I thought "Y" — 
»Y"-"Y"-"Y." It was a memory test for me. 
I felt I should remember some of those panels and 
here was the chance to think clear and quick. I went 
through the various fake memory courses I had 
taken and tried in every way to determine the mean- 
ing of "Y," so after trying to figure it out by the 
lav/ of association, the law of likeness of sound, the 
law of impress and five other such hopeless laws I 
began to regret that I had paid so much for that 
memory course. Then I casually took out my map 
chart to find out what "Y" meant. As I ran slowly 
down the list of signals I came to "Y" and looking 
across it I saw ''Attention! Ennemi avion pres de 
vous," which in English means "Look out! Enemy 
plane close to you." I thought I did not know 
French but I certainly acquired it with the speed of 
lightning. I dropped my map board like a shot, 
jumped up in my cockpit, grabbed my machine guns, 
released the tourelle, and whether I knew anything 
about that tourelle or not, it followed me as I 
spun around three times in a complete circle of three 
hundred and sixty degrees with the speed of a ballet 
dancer — I was bent on getting anything near me. 
I stopped — looked frantically at the pilot, expecting 
to find him dead. He had turned around to find out 
what the rumpus was about. I did nothing but to 
give him a sickly smile for I had nothing else to 
give. They had a signal commonly used among ob- 
servers to describe a cross with the forefinger and 
point when the observer saw a German plane, but 



BEGINNER'S LUCK 17 

this was among the thousand things I had not learned 
about aerial observation. So, he went on, straight 
flying, just aimlessly drifting on. 

I gradually calmed myself and looked into the sky 
above me and I saw seven airplanes which were hid- 
den from the view of the pilot on account of the* 
position of the wing above him. I was quite sure 
from the lectures I had had in America from in- 
structors who had never been at the Front, that one 
could easily distinguish an enemy airplane by the 
huge black cross that is painted all over it, and so 
I skimmed my eyes over them trying to discern the 
cross. I could not, and yet the airplanes stayed 
about six hundred meters above me and kept on 
circling around. I decided that I was being duped 
and that there was some under my tail, so I hung 
my anatomy over the fuselage and after a hasty 
examination I was convinced that the only airplanes 
in that sky, except our own, were the seven above 
me, and Jones, who was down by the battery still 
circling around. I looked down at the panels and 
they were still frantically waving that "Y" and 
peering at the planes above me I saw that they were 
still circling around. I did not know what to do. In 
fact, I did not do anything for fully thirty seconds, 
except to watch those planes, but they did not make 
any sudden maneuvers or show any inclination to 
attack. I looked down again and they were still 
putting out that big "Y" and my pilot was just 
floating along as if nothing had ever happened; in 
fact he had never seen the panels and was not pay- 



18 LUCK ON THE WING 

ing any attention, having undoubtedly an abundance 
of confidence in the ability of the American observer, 
and as I could not disappoint him in his splendid 
judgment as to my ability I just used my perfectly 
splendid logic and decided that if they were German 
planes they certainly would have attacked me before 
this time, and since they had not attacked, they could 
be no other than French; and the solution was that 
the battery had probably received notice from the 
Squadron Commander that there was a green ob- 
server up and so they were undoubtedly flashing this 
"Y" trying to play a joke on me, believing that I 
would run home, and thinking, perhaps, that I had 
not seen Jones go down in his rapid spiral. So, I 
decided to show them that they could not fox me 
and I just stayed up there, floating around. After 
I had stayed up there for about fifteen minutes Jones 
pulled out for home, and when I saw him shoot off in 
that direction I decided that perhaps the signal had 
been changed and "Y" meant that "there is no fur- 
ther need for you, ' ' and that they were just trying to 
attract my attention so that we would start home. 
I decided I would not show any more ignorance 
than I had and would say nothing of the incident. 
So we went home and I felt pretty good that I 
was in sight of the airdrome again and still alive 
and that nothing unusual had happened after all. 
Jones got there about five minutes ahead of me. 
Meanwhile the battery had called up the Squadron 
and told them that the observer in that second plane 
was either the bravest man they had ever seen or the 



BEGINNER'S LUCK 19 

biggest idiot, that he had stayed up there daring 
seven Germans to attack him single handed, while 
they had toiled feverishly for fifteen minutes with 
"YV and double "Y's" trying to give him warn- 
ing and that his utter disregard of their signals 
had so unnerved the crew that fifty per cent, would 
be sick for a week. So, of course, the entire flying 
personnel, including Adjutants, Sergeants, Cor- 
porals, Lieutenants and Aspirants (Cadets) were 
there, as well as the Capitaine, to meet and greet 
us. Jones, of course, had gotten out and also told 
them about our narrow escape from the seven Huns 
and you can imagine the excitement and ejaculating 
of a bunch of Frenchmen when anything so pre- 
posterous as this should happen, especially with a 
new American who as yet was untried in valor on 
the battlefields of France. 

They were thoroughly convinced that I was an 
unusually hard-boiled soldier and that I had just 
dared the Germans to come down, and knew all the 
time that they were Germans and that I was really 
seeking a fight with the seven. Imagine the recep- 
tion — they all ran up to the plane, double time, in- 
cluding the rather heavy Captain, waving their 
hands and shouting, but their remarks were so jum- 
bled that I could not grasp the entire meaning. 
They all came up and shook my hand and patted me 
on the back and said "Bravo !" "Tres Fort!" and 
"Vive 1 'Americain ! " and a lot of other stuff. I 
was not much excited about it because I thought 
perhaps that was customary as it was my first trip. 



20 LUCK ON THE WING 

Then, just as suddenly as if they were waiting to 
hear a pin drop, everything became quiet, and they 
demanded my story. Strangely enough I was per- 
fectly convinced that we had done nothing wrong, so 
I asked one of the Lieutenants who spoke a little 
English to tell me what it was all about. He threw 
his head back in great surprise and demanded in 
low tones, "Did you not see those seven planes above 
you?" I quietly answered, "Certainly, I saw those 
seven planes," for I did. Then he continued in the 
same low voice, "And did you not see the battery 
putting out the 'Y' with the panels?" I said, "Cer- 
tainly ! ' ' Everybody and everything was as quiet as 
death, and then the light began to come to me just 
as the sun's rays so suddenly and rapidly dispel 
a fog, and I knew exactly what the next question 
was going to be. He said, "Those were German 
planes, didn't you know it?" At those words I 
almost faded away but this was the real time for a 
little "emergency" drama, so I assumed the role 
of a modern Daniel emerging from the Den and 
shrugging my shoulders with a very much emphasized 
forward motion of the chest, I bellowed, "Sure, I 
knew they were Germans all the time. I didn't run 
(emphasizing "I") because I wanted to say I had 
shot down some Boche on my first trip over the 
lines." Their fond expectations of the bravery of 
the Americans and incidentally my prowess were 
met. They were proud of their new ally. Then 
came many cries of ' ' Bravo ! Bravo ! ' ' and indiscreet 
whispers of "Croix de Guerre," and we all went 



BEGINNER'S LUCK 21 

home, with the American Sky Spy about the most 
popular fellow he has ever been. 

That night we had a real banquet at which I 
bought the champagne and the red wine. While 
we were celebrating I was going over the whole 
matter and long before I went home that night I 
realized that it was more than luck and a "handful 
of Marines" that had saved me from those seven 
Huns. It was manifest destiny, for I found that 
the reason those German planes did not attack when 
they had me cold was that one of the aerial tactics 
in vogue at that time, was to send one plane low as 
I was, with a strong pursuit patrol high in the clouds 
above so that when the enemy attacked the lower 
plane the pursuit planes high above could dive on 
the enemy, thus having the great advantages of posi- 
tion, speed and surprise. The seven Huns thought 
I was a dupe — I was, but not the kind they thought. 
Mine was a case of ultra-distilled beginner's luck. 



II 

HARDBOILED 

EVERY soldier from the General to a private 
sooner or later gets his reputation. It cornea 
through observation of a man's action and attitude 
by his fellow soldiers. Those who early in the game 
get a favorable reputation are indeed fortunate 
while those who get in bad, so to speak, are generally 
strictly out of luck for reputations are like postage 
stamps — when once stuck on they are hard to take 
off. 

There was one reputation which many sought but 
which represented to me exactly what a real man's 
nature ought not contain — this was the common pre- 
fix to one's name of ' ' hardboiled. ' ' The accepted 
meaning of this word varied with localities, but I 
did not like it even in its most liberal and favorable 
interpretation. 

In every locality except the front, the common 
acceptance of the term "hardboiled" indicated one 
who in any position of authority was a pinheaded, 
tyrannical crab, who was so engrossed in himself and 
his big stick position that he was entirely oblivious 
to the feelings and rights of those he commanded. 
In other words, one who neither sought counsel nor 

22 



HARDBOILED 23 

permitted argument. At the front, however, common 
usage had changed the meaning of this famous term. 
There it ordinarily referred to the soldier who had 
the maximum quantity of bravery and the mini- 
mum amount of common sense and who purposely 
flirted with death for the fun of it and who valued 
life somewhere between eight cents and two bits, 
war tax not included. I paraphrase Mr. Shake- 
speare in that some people are naturally hardboiled, 
others acquire it and still others have it thrust upon 
them. I must add another class which has grown 
quite common since the war is over ; that is, assumed 
hardboiledness, and it is ordinarily recognized in the 
blowing of one's own horn lest it be not blown for 
true enough the genuine hardboiled soldier in the 
fighting interpretation of that word, is strictly a man 
of action and not words. 

It is, of course, safe now for the parlor sofa sol- 
dier to explain to his audience just how much help 
the rest of the Army gave him in winning the war. 
I sometimes pull this gag myself when there is a 
good chance to get away with it. For those who, 
during the war, were in the rear waiting for the 
chance to get to the front it was also healthy to 
emphatically emphasize just what wonders they 
would accomplish when fortune favored them by 
sending them to the lines. There it was entirely a 
matter of environment for there was no likelihood 
of those perfectly harmless bluffs being called since 
there was no possible opportunity at hand to demon- 
strate the modest announcements of their prowess. 



24 LUCK ON THE WING 

But take it from me as the greatest lesson I ever 
learned, it is the most ill-advised speech possible 
when one arrives at the front and begins to scatter 
broadcast promiscuous remarks either about one 's own 
particular courage or any one else's lack of it, for, 
believe me, you will no more than get the words 
into sound than they will be called and called 
strong. At the front they have the peculiar faculty 
of making immediately available full opportunity 
for demonstrating daring, bravery, or any other 
manly virtue that the newcomer claims as a part of 
his makeup. 

The now famous 12th Aero Squadron formed, with 
the 1st Aero Squadron, the first American Observa- 
tion Group at the front. It was located near a little 
village called Ourches, about fifteen kilometres north- 
west of Toul. Upon completion of my training with 
the French, during which time I had just the one trip 
over the lines, I was assigned to the 12th Aero 
Squadron. My time over the lines amounted to only 
fifty-five minutes. The only thing I knew about sky- 
spying was what I had read in my books and what 
I had picked up in our embryonic course of instruc- 
tion at the schools. Just as soon as I had gotten 
to the squadron I began to hear wild rumors of how 
the Commanding Officer was going to send back to 
the rear all those observers who did not have suffi- 
cient experience over the lines and that he expected 
them all to have had, at least, ten trips over the 
lines. I immediately realized that I had no chance 



HARDBOILED 25 

whatsoever with that standard, so my only hope was 
that the Commanding Officer would be a nice man 
and that I could talk him into making an exception 
in my case. I found out that the squadron was 
commanded by a young Regular Army officer by the 
name of Major Lewis Hyde Brereton. No one I 
could ask seemed to know a lot about him, for the 
squadron was just being organized and would not 
operate over the front lines for a couple of days, at 
least. So I had no dope on the manner of man I was 
to approach and who fortune had destined should 
become the leading and controlling influence of my 
life at the front. 

Captain "Deacon" Saunders, who has since been 
killed, had been one of my instructors at school and 
he had been designated by Brereton as Chief Ob- 
server. "Deac" was a wonder. It was his duty 
to round up the wild observers and present them 
io the Commanding Officer, who cross-questioned 
them as to their experience and the like. So, ' ' Deac ' ' 
grabbed me eventually during the morning of the 
second day and took me over to meet His Royal 
Majesty, the Commanding Officer of an actual Amer- 
ican Squadron at the front. He was quartered in a 
wooden hut commonly known as an "Adrian 
Barrack." 

Saunders gave a sharp military knock of three 
raps and I, of course, expected to hear a nice, soft, 
cultured voice say, "Won't you come in?" What 
I heard, however, was considerably different. "Who 



26 LUCK ON THE WING 

in the hell's there?" The voice was sharp and im- 
patient, and it suddenly made me feel ''less than the 
dust beneath thy chariot wheel." 

Captain Saunders spoke up, "Sir, I have a new 
observer reporting and would like to present him to 
you." 

"What's his name?" gruff ed the irate voice. 

"Lieutenant Haslett, Sir," replied Captain Saun- 
ders. 

"Who in the devil asked for him?" came from the 
inside. 

"Sir," said my godfather, "he was included in 
the list sent down by Headquarters." 

"Well! Is he there now?" said the power within. 

"Yes, sir, right with me now," was the reply, and 
I began to pull down my blouse and otherwise mill 
around in preparation for my entrance, for tjiis last 
question was encouraging. 

"Well," came the growl, after a discomforting 
hesitation, "I don't want to see him. I'm writing a 
letter to my wife and I can't be bothered." 

I felt about as welcome as a skunk in a public 
park. In all my military experience I cannot re- 
member anything that really hurt me so much. I 
wanted like a starving man wants food, to be a plain 
buck private in the Infantry, for this was the most 
inconsiderate sort of a bruise; it hurt me more, 
of course, because I was an officer and was wear- 
ing my pride on my coat sleeve. The only thing 
that bolstered me up was the fact that I had finally 



HARDBOILED 27 

gotten to the American front and I was willing to 
sacrifice practically anything to stay there, but I 
certainly realized that the man who put the * ' boiled ' ' 
in " hard boiled" was no other than Major Lewis 
H. Brereton. 

At noon I saw Brereton for the first time. Some 
one was kind enough to point him out to me, and I 
remember thinking at the time, ' ' How can a pleasant- 
faced youngster like that be so hardboiled?" 

That afternoon, around three o'clock, "Deac" 
Saunders said we would again attempt to get an 
audience, and just as he introduced me, for some 
reason, Saunders was called away, and I had no 
friend to sponsor my cause before a hard judge. 
Brereton had just finished his after-dinner nap and 
was in the act of dressing in flying clothes to take 
a little flight around the field, so being in a hurry, 
he began throwing out snappy questions at me, as if 
trying to establish a record in getting rid of me. 
He lost no time in continuing his dressing, and did 
not even ask me to sit down or to allow me to relax 
from my painfully rigid position of Attention. 

"What's your name?" he commanded. 

"Lieutenant Haslett, Sir." 

"I've got eyes," he snapped. "I can see your rank 
all right. How does it happen you are Infantry?" 

"I volunteered, Sir, for Aviation and was de- 
tailed." 

"Volunteered or was ordered to volunteer?" he 
queried. This hurt for it had been strongly rumored 



28 LUCK ON THE WING 

that in the selection of aerial observers, many line 
commanders had gotten rid of their undesirables by 
sending them to aviation — as observers. 

" Volunteered, Sir!" I replied, bluffed and be- 
wildered. 

His attitude showed plainly that I did not strike 
him at all well. I was still standing at attention, 
when he sharply commanded "Sit down!" Believe 
me, I did. 

"How many hours over the lines?" he fired next. 

Hours ! That word removed the floodgate and the 
last ounce of my composure ebbed away. My time 
over the lines was measured in minutes and here 
was a man talking in terms of hours, already. This 
was the one thing I must avoid, so I sought to evade 
the question. 

"I have had eight hours in the air, Sir." But 
I did not lay any stress on "in the air." 

"I don't care how many hours you've had in the 
air. I asked you how many hours you have had 
over the lines. That's what counts with me," he said 
emphatically. 

There was no escape. If I lied he could look up 
the record, so, I decided to tell the truth from 
necessity for this was not the place or time for 
"period of the emergency" statements. 

"Fifty-five minutes, Sir," I confessed. 

"I thought so," and he nodded his head in proud 
self -approval just as does the cross-examining prose- 
cutor when he finally forces an admission from the 



HARDBOILED 29 

man at bay. "How many adjustments over the 
lines ?" 

"None, Sir." 

"None!" he said with a noticeable inflection. 
"How many in the air at school?" 

"None, Sir," I said meekly enough. 

* ' None ! " he exclaimed emphatically. ' * How many, 
on paper?" 

"One, Sir," I said, hesitatingly, for my energy was 
getting low. 

"Well," he snapped, as if glad to dispose of me 
on my own lack of merit. "You don't know a damn 
thing about observation. How in the hell did you 
get to the front, anyway? I might use you as a 
mess officer, but if you ever intend to fly over the 
front you've got to go back and learn something 
about your job. This is a service squadron, operat- 
ing over the front. Whoever ordered you to Toul 
intended to send you to Tours, so I'll call up and 
get orders for you to go back to the rear." 

Tours, by the way, was the great aviation primary 
school of the American Forces — while Toul in those 
early days signified the front. 

My pride fell like a demonstration of Newton's 
law of gravity. This hardboiled man could not be 
approached by man or beast ; and it seemed the only 
thing I could do was to say "Yes, sir" and beat it. 
I had visions of returning to the rear for further 
instruction, yet here I was at the front — I had 
finally realized my ambition and yet was on the 



30 LUCK ON THE WING 

verge of having it strangled by this man's incon- 
sideration. I could not endure the thought — my 
attitude changed in a moment — I determined to as- 
sume hardboiledness, for after I had gotten that 
close to the front I certainly was not going back 
without putting up some sort of a fight. Besides, 
I had a few days before written my folks and my 
friends that I was actually at the front, and what 
kind of a legitimate reason could I give in my next 
letter when I would have to tell them I was no longer 
at the front. The only legitimate excuse a soldier 
has for leaving the front after being fortunate 
enough to get there, is an incapacitating wound, and 
while Brereton had dealt me several wounds which 
were sure enough incapacitating, yet they were not 
the kind that would put pretty little gold wound 
stripes on my arm. Sure enough — I was down and 
about to take the count. 

There is always a way to get out of the most 
entangling net. Sometimes it narrows down to only 
one way and if the captive fails to choose that one 
particular hazard out of a thousand plausible ones, 
he is out of luck. So it was, there was only one 
way to extricate myself from the web that Brereton 
had spun so quickly around my whole ambition. 
Very, very fortunately I had picked the winner. It 
was a long chance, but I was Houdini this time. 
This hardboiled monster had to be met with his own 
style. So, with an assumed role of the hardboiled, 
man-eating cannibal, I right away cut out that "sir" 
stuif, took out my pipe and calmly started to fill it 



HARDBOILED 31 

with "Bull Durham' ' tobacco, which was the only- 
brand our little canteen had in stock, and we were 
really mighty happy to get even that. 

Brereton plainly saw that my temper had gotten 
out of bounds and that I was preparing to come back 
at his apparently final decision either with tears or 
blasphemy or both. But just as the matador seeks 
to infuriate the bull by waving a red flag before 
slaughtering him, so Brereton seeing me about to fill 
my pipe with this well-advertised and justly cele- 
brated brand of tobacco, ventured forth. 

" Lieutenant, ' ' he said, clearing his throat by way 
of emphasis, "I take it that you are about to use 
some Bull. ,, 

He said this quite seriously, without even a follow- 
up laugh to dull the cutting bluntness of it. It ap- 
parently was his day, for like the infuriated bull, I 
was seeing red already. I made the final run to 
gore him or be stabbed myself by his waiting poniard 
of arrogance. 

"You can call it Bull, if you like," I fairly cried, 
"but, pardon my frankness, the fact that you classi- 
fy what I have to say even before you have heard 
it shows your premature judgment, just as you 
prematurely judged my ability or lack of ability as 
an observer before even giving me an opportunity 
to demonstrate it. Of course, I don't know whether 
you have ever been over the lines or not, but if you 
have, you will concur with me that the greatest thing 
an observer needs is 'guts.' I don't say I'm a 
world's beater in experience, but one thing I have 



32 LUCK ON THE WING 

and which can be demonstrated nowhere else but 
over the lines, ' ' and here I threw out my chest, ' ' and 
that is 'guts* or politely ' intestines. ' Now, if that 
asset means anything to you, you will give me a 
chance to stay with the 12th. All I want is an 
opportunity to render good service, and to show the 
stuff I am made of. Now if you don't want to give 
me a chance I can do nothing further except to tell 
you that I will get the chance elsewhere and that I 
know more about observation than most of your 
observers ever will know. ' ' 

Major Brereton was dumbfounded. When he 
recovered he gave a real, ringing, golden, genuine 
laugh, came across and said, "Damn it all, my boy, 
maybe you're right. I haven't been over the lines 
myself yet." 

I knew quite well he hadn 't. If it had been other- 
wise I would have mended my speech considerably. 

"But, old man," he said, "I was only thinking 
for your own good. Hell, if you want to be a damn 
fool and go on over the lines, knowing as little as 
you do, it 's not my worry. Go ahead ! ' ' 

I thanked him and told him that I had to start 
some time and I would be all ready to go over at my 
first opportunity. 

Fully decided to make myself at home I went out 
to the hangars and to my surprise, I saw the same 
kind of old airplanes we had used in the observa- 
tion school in France. They were an obsolete type 
of French service plane, known as "A.R.'s" — Avion 
Renault — which in English meant "Renault Air- 



HARDBOILED 33 

plane/ ' The accepted meaning to the Americans, 
however, was "Antique Rattletrap. ' ' The only good 
feature about the A.R. was the dependable motor, 
but they were very slow and did not fly well. They 
might in those days pass for a second class training 
plane, but to have them on the line, functioning as 
service planes, was a great surprise to me. The life 
of the airman depends very largely on the bus he 
drives. We all wanted Spads, Salmsons or Breguets, 
and, of course, any prospect of an American plane 
in those days was a myth, so there was noticeably 
keen disappointment when we found that we must 
fly over the front in those old, discarded and obsolete 
A.R.'s. However, they were all we had and so far 
as I was concerned, I knew that my stay in the 
squadron was largely by sufferance and I could not 
afford to kick lest I be also kicked out, so I im- 
mediately decided to think a lot, but say nothing. 

Those first few missions over the lines were tame 
enough. Happily enough I got in as substitute on 
the first mission of the squadron over the lines. The 
only diversion was the anti-aircraft artillery fire, or 
the "Archies," and there was nothing tame about 
that. However, there was more activity in sight 
for in a few days Brereton announced that he wanted 
his squadron to be a specialized one and that he 
desired the names of a few observers who would 
volunteer to specialize in "Infantry contact patrol. " 
"Infantry contact patrol" to my mind meant noth- 
ing, so from force of habit I volunteered. The only 
other observers who volunteered were Lieutenant 



34 LUCK ON THE WING 

Emerson, a fine, young fellow who was killed a couple 
of days later, and Captain "Deacon" Saunders, our 
Chief Observer. 

Though I was not previously known in the squad- 
ron I somehow became prominent right off, and with 
it went the title of " Ha rdb oiled. " So, when several 
of my newly formed acquaintances solemnly asked 
'me how long I expected to live doing "Infantry 
Contact Patrols/ ' I hied me forth to the Operations 
Koom and asked the Chief Observer what it was all 
about. I was handed a pamphlet written by Colonel 
William Mitchell, who was Chief of Air Service at 
the Front. It started out with these words, "In- 
fantry Liaison, or Infantry Contact Patrol is the 
most hazardous, but most important of all missions." 
My eyes began to bat like a heavyweight's before he 
falls for the count, and as I read on I came rapidly 
to the conclusion that the volunteer system was abso- 
lutely all wrong and the next time any of these nice, 
uncertain jobs were offered I'd take my place in the 
draft. 

I found that Infantry Contact Patrol indicated the 
airplane that gains contact with the infantry in 
battle, which is done by flying extremely low over 
the troops, finding the advanced lines, transmitting 
signals, calling for reinforcements, ammunition or the 
like, attacking machine guns or anything else which 
is holding up the advance of the infantry; further, 
that the great drawback to this kind of work is that 
the infantry airplane is constantly under fire from 



HARDBOILED 35 

enemy machine guns and enemy pursuit planes, 
which, of course, concentrate to hinder this all im- 
portant work. I decided that with my huge body in 
a slow A.R. plane my life on this work would be 
measured in minutes. It was a real scare. 

There was no backing down since I had already 
volunteered, so I began to study the bulletins, with 
the greatest care. No attacks, however, took place 
in this quiet sector so I hit upon the brilliant idea 
of trying out this new work in practice on the Ger- 
mans, then I would be properly experienced should 
there ever actually be an attack. The trenches in the 
Toul Sector were well marked, especially around 
Layeyville and Richecourt. So I studied those 
trenches from maps, photographs and from the air, 
until I knew them perfectly. 

One evening I had as my pilot, Lieutenant Jack 
Kennedy, who was one of our flight commanders, 
and who was in for anything new and exciting, so, 
we fixed it up that we would try out a practice in- 
fantry contact on the Germans. When we finished 
our usual evening reconnaissance of the sector, we 
played around looking for a good situation that 
might be assumed. When we got just above Riche- 
court, which was the beginning of the German lines, 
I discerned quite clearly, about ten, big, fat Heinies 
slowly wobbling down a communication trench. It 
apparently was a relief going into s place. The trench 
was unusually long and was not intersected by any 
other trenches for some length. 



36 LUCK ON THE WING 

"Those Germans are bringing up ammunition re- 
inforcements for the battle," I assumed. "They 
must be stopped!" The ammunition was soup. 

I called Kennedy, pointed them out to him, and 
told him my assumption. Without waiting for a 
signal, he dived like the winged messenger of fate. 
Kennedy had been trained with the English Pursuit 
Pilots and he was handling that big, slow, lumbering 
A.R. like a little fighting scout. We came out of that 
dive with a quivering groan, and Kennedy, at about 
one hundred meters altitude, began to circle over 
that communicating trench, waiting for me to halt 
the procession. He was too fast for me, but when 
I finally got my heart gauged down a bit, and my 
Adani's apple released from its strangle hold on my 
windpipe, I began to make my final estimate of the 
situation. The Heinies had stopped and were eyeing 
us like country boys at their first circus. It was 
easy. All I had to do was to pull the triggers, for 
my guns were directly on them and the enemy re- 
inforcements would never reach its intended destina- 
tion. They could not scatter — they were rats in my 
trap. Then an intensely human appeal struck me — 
poor, belated, unfortunate Heinies — they were not 
my personal enemies, and if I pulled the triggers 
it would be little short of murder. To balance this 
was another series of thought — they were enemies of 
my country — of the United States — and, if I allowed 
them to live, would probably kill many of our own 
brave doughboys; perhaps they belonged to machine 
gun squads ; perhaps it was they who had killed my 



HARDBOILED 37 

pals, Angel and Emerson, a few days before. Sucti 
were my thoughts when suddenly, Spiff! Spang! 
and two bullets went between me and the gasoline 
tank, tearing a hole in the top plate. Spiff ! ! ! An- 
other went through the fuselage, smashing into bits, 
my hard-rubber wireless reel. It was no time to 
indulge in psychological deductions — I realized that 
I was being fired at from the ground, and like my 
lumbering old A.R., I was about to pass from ob- 
solescence to obsolete. The application of proper 
psychology indicated that since I was being fired at, 
the war between the United States and Germany had 
not ended and below me was the enemy. I was 
conscious of something within calling me to "Do my 
duty!" I did. The bullets began to sing at the 
rate of six hundred per minute, and my tracer bullets 
did not betray me. They were finding their mark. 
Measured by the standard that an Ace is one who 
gets five or more Boche, I became an Ace in a day — 
and also the first American Ace. However, strangely 
enough, when my friends to-day ask me, ' ' How many 
boche did you get?" I can truthfully say, "Between 
seventy-five and a hundred," but when they say, 
"How many boche planes did you shoot down?" I 
have to renig for I am not an Ace. 

I was quite certain that my assumed reputation 
of "hardboiled" would be justified by this day's 
performance. The mechanics took a just pride in the 
holes in our plane and patched them over, as was the 
custom, with miniature Iron Crosses, showing the 
date of the puncture. The next morning I noticed 



38 LUCK ON THE WING 

myself being pointed out by several officers of the 
squadron and this gave me the rather satisfactory 
feeling commonly described by the English as 
1 ' cocky." 

Brereton had nothing whatever to say about the 
mission but Captain ' ' Deac ' ' Saunders said ' ' Bully, ' ' 
and called me ' ' Hardboiled, ' ' but my reputation 
lasted only two days, four hours and twenty min- 
utes, for the Group Commander threw ice-cold water 
over everything by saying that he considered it very 
poor work, that it had no military value and that it 
only encouraged reprisals on the part of the Hun 
who would soon do the same thing. So, I was tem- 
porarily classed as bone-headed, and a "dud" and 
was in dutch all round. There was one little spark 
of encouragement in a remark that Brereton made, 
which got to me through the medium of a friend, 
and it took away the sting of the Group Com- 
mander 's criticism, for to me the only boss I had was 
Brereton, and what he said was law. The adverse 
remarks of the Group Commander hurt at the time, 
I admit, but when Brereton said he did not exactly 
agree with him that the mission had no military 
value, and also several months later, when this type 
of mission had so developed that we had special 
squadrons in the Saint Mihiel and Argonne offensives 
that did nothing but this particular type of work, 
I was happy indeed. Later, all types of planes were 
ordered to fire at troops on the ground when their 
assigned missions were completed, and the oppor- 
tunity presented itself. 



HARDBOILED 39 

Shortly after this mission, Henderson, who was the 
Operations Officer under Captain Saunders, the Chief 
Observer, left for the aerial gunnery school in the 
south of France, with three other observers, to take 
a month's course in firing and then return to the 
Front. This left the much coveted position of 
Operations Officer open and, of course, everyone was 
wondering to whom it would fall. It was the biggest 
job in the squadron next to the Commanding Officer 
and the Chief Observer, and since the Operations 
Officer dealt directly with the observers I was mighty 
anxious to find out who my new boss would be, so 
that I could make it a point to get along with him. 

That night Saunders came around and called me 
out of a little game we were having — I thought per- 
haps I was scheduled to go on a special mission of 
some kind, but there was a surprise, undreamed of, 
awaiting me. 

"Haslett," he said, "Henderson is going to 
Caseaux to-morrow and I have recommended you to 
Brereton for appointment as Operations Officer. He 
kicks like the devil that you haven't had much ex- 
perience, but he likes that mission you got away with 
and thinks you are 'hardboiled,' so he may come 
across. He is going to decide before breakfast to- 
morrow. ' ' 

I could not believe what he had said and humbly 
asked him to repeat it all over from the beginning. 
I slept very little that night, for to me this was 
the biggest thing in the world, it would clearly in- 



40 LUCK ON THE WING 

dicate that I had made good and that my stay at the 
front was assured. 

The announcement on the bulletin board the next 
morning was signed by Charley Wade, the best 
Squadron Adjutant I have ever seen, and stated that 
I had been detailed as Actmg Operations Officer. 
I was the happiest lad in the world. I don't believe 
any success I can ever achieve will make me as happy 
as I was when I read that order. The first thing 
I did was to consult Brereton and Saunders as to 
how they wanted it operated. Brereton gave me no 
dope whatever, except <f to run it as I darn pleased 
and if it did not please him he would soon get some 
one who would.' ' 

Thus I started. As new pilots reported I always 
took them over the lines for the initial trip. Saun- 
ders asked me to do this for he felt that I was either 
absolutely worthless or extraordinarily good. If I 
was worthless there would be no loss if the green 
pilot killed me, and if on my part, I succeeded in 
getting the pilot back safe, it would be wonderful 
training for the pilot. Some logic, I reasoned — thus 
my job of official breaker-in of new pilots. I say 
"breaker" for a new pilot coming to the front must 
be broken in just the same as a horse has to be 
broken for riding or driving. It is equally true in 
both cases that the first ride is the worst. 

We had one boy who had been with us since the 
formation of the squadron, but who had been sick and 
was unable to fly. His name was Phil Schnurr, a 
young lieutenant from Detroit, Michigan. Phil did 



HARDBOILED 41 

not get his first trip over the Front until some time 
around the first of June. Of course, I was the goat 
and took him across. It was not new for me as he 
was about the sixth I had broken in. 

I emphasized to him that in my experience over 
the lines among other things I had found that the 
best way to get away from the " archies' ' was to dive 
when they got near you for the reason that it was 
much easier for the "archies" to correct deflection 
than it was for them to correct range. Whatever 
that means, it's all right. Phil knew. 

I decided that we would call on a battery and 
adjust the artillery on an enemy battery in a woods 
close by, which was causing our troops considerable 
trouble, so I explained to Phil just what we would 
do, going largely into detail. 

The plane was a little shaky even at the take off, 
and I decided right away that Phil was not quite 
in the class with Rickenbacker, but I attributed the 
cause to his natural nervousness, which would soon 
wear off. After calling our battery by wireless for 
several minutes they finally put out their panels and 
we immediately went over to look for the hostile 
battery that had been reported the same day. I 
found it and we just started to cross the lines to go 
back into France when Fritz played one of his favor- 
ite tricks. The Germans allow the observation plane 
to cross the line and come in for not more than three 
or four kilometers, then when you turn to come out, 
having followed you all the time with their range 
finders, they suddenly open up with all their anti- 



42 LUCK ON THE WING 

aircraft artillery and generally catch you in theis 
bracket at the first salvo. You are bracketed when 
they have fired the first shots — one above, one below 
and one on each side of you. It is not a pleasant 
position in which to be caught. But they did more 
than that to us — they not only bracketed us, but one 
shot got us right under the tail and when Phil heard 
that burst, known commonly as ' ' Aviator 's Lullaby, ' ' 
which is the most rasping and exasperating noise it is 
possible to imagine, he remembered my admonition 
to dive if they got close, so just as the tail went 
up from the force of the concussion of the shell di- 
rectly below us, Phil pushed forward for all he was 
worth on the control stick. The sudden jarring 
of the plane from the explosion and the more abrupt 
dive, released the throttle, throwing the motor into 
full speed. And with one mighty jerk like the sudden 
release of a taut rubber band, all three forces work- 
ing in the same direction, and aided by the flyer's 
greatest enemy, Newton's law of gravity, that A.R. 
omnibus started straight down in one terrible dive. 
Poor old Phil was thrown completely out of the 
pilot's seat and was only saved from going headlong 
into the open air by his head striking the upper wing 
of the plane, which knocked him back into the seat, 
dazed and practically unconscious. The "hard- 
boiled" observer in the back seat did not have a 
belt, for my famous A.R. plane was not equipped 
with them. I went completely out of the cockpit 
and in that brief second I had one of the rarest 
thoughts I have ever had — I was sure I was going to 



HARDBOILED 43 

be killed and I regretted that it was in such a man- 
ner, for it was, indeed, unfortunate that I should be 
killed in an airplane accident when I might have 
died fighting in combat — there, at least, I would 
have had an equal chance with the enemy. As I 
shot out of that cockpit with the speed that a bullet 
leaves the barrel of a gun, my foot caught on the wire 
directly underneath the rim of the cockpit. With 
superhuman effort doubled by the intuitive hope of 
self-preservation, I grabbed the top gun which in 
those days was mounted on the top of the upper 
plane. Backward I fell. For a moment I was com- 
pletely free of the airplane, in midair; as I fell 
my chin hit the outward pointing muzzle of the ma- 
chine gun; I threw my arms forward and closed 
them in the grip of death. I had caught the barrels 
of my machine guns and the next thing I was con- 
scious of was that I was hanging over the side of 
the fuselage, below the airplane, but clinging on to 
those machine guns for dear life. The old admoni- 
tion "to stand by the guns, boys" was tame com- 
pared to me. My watchword was "hang on to the 
guns, boy." 

The plane had fallen about one thousand feet and 
was still going, but stunned as he was, Phil was 
doing his best to level her off. I was sure if he ever 
did level her off the strain would be so great that 
it would fold or strip the wings. I cannot account 
for the strength that came to me, but I do know 
that if I ever should get into a good fight, I only 
hope I may again be that superman, with the agility 



44 LUCK ON THE WING 

of the ape riding the flying horse at the three- 
ringed circus. 

I scrambled up on those machine guns, grabbed the 
rim of the cockpit and the brace of the tourrelle 
and climbed in. My ears were splitting; I was 
certain that the top of my head had been shot away, 
for there was nothing there but a stinging, painful 
numbness. My heart was beating at the rate of nine 
hundred and ninety-nine round trips per second. I 
felt that my whole body was being flayed by sharp, 
burning, steel lashes. Then I suddenly grew as cold 
as ice and passed out. It was almost a literal case 
of a man being scared to death. When I saw the 
light again I was limp in the bottom of the fuselage. 
My first sensation was that we had crashed and I was 
alive in the wreckage, but the drone of the motor 
brought me to the realization that we were still fly- 
ing. Evidently Phil had gotten control again, so I 
pulled myself up to my seat in the cockpit and got 
my bearings — we were headed toward home. Poor 
Phil had his eyes set straight ahead. At his right he 
had a mirror which reflected the movements of the 
observer, thus obviating the necessity of continually 
turning around. When Phil saw my reflection in 
that mirror, however, he whirled around at top speed 
to verify it. His countenance changed from being 
horrified to complete surprise and then to genuine 
delight. He had evidently looked around immedi- 
ately upon gaining control, and not seeing me, had 
realized that I had been thrown from the plane. He 



HARDBOILED 45 

was going back to the airdrome to tell the horrible 
tale. 

I could read the look in his eyes and I do not 
know what in the world possessed me to do it, but I 
gave a huge, roaring laugh that would have made the 
jovial laugh of the old southern mammy sound 
meager in comparison. Phil did not laugh, he only 
gave a sickly, sympathetic smile. The boy was thor- 
oughly convinced that I had suddenly become in- 
sane — he had justification for his conviction for there 
was nothing in the world at which I could find a 
reason for laughing at that time — either in law, fic- 
tion, fact, heaven or earth. 

I was still sort of dazed, but we were fast ap- 
proaching our airdrome. The thing that preyed on 
my mind was that we had started out to do an 
aerial adjustment and had not finished it. What 
would Brereton say — and I was now Operations 
Officer — what would the Battery say? Could I ever 
get the results from observers when I did not bring 
home the bacon myself. There was only one thing 
to do — the adjustment started must be finished. I 
shook the plane and spoke to Phil through the old 
rubber tubes we had in those days. I told him 
what had happened, but that I was all right now. 
Then he told me what happened to him. 

''How's your head feeling now, Phil?" I asked. 

"It's cracked open," he answered. 

"Can you go ahead and finish this adjustment?" 
I demanded. 



46 LUCK ON THE WING 

"Yes, I can/' he said, "but I'm not going to, 
I'm sick." 

"So am I, but you know that's no excuse at all. 
Let's try it," I ventured. 

He said nothing but turned his plane toward 
Germany and we were again speeding toward the 
lines. 

The battery must have realized what had happened 
or almost happened, so when I began to wireless to 
them the location of the target, they were sports- 
men just like all the rest of that 26th Division and 
they immediately put out the panel meaning "There 
is no further need of you, you can go home." 

This was commendable on their part and it sorely 
tempted me to take them up, but I quite well knew 
there was no excuse to make for going home now 
since we had both decided to finish it, so I im- 
mediately called back and asked "Is Battery 
Ready?" They, of course, put out the signal that 
it was. So I gave them the coordinates of the target 
and we started to work. We were both extremely 
nervous and weak and the anti-aircraft kept firing 
with unceasing violence. We stayed in the air for 
exactly an hour and fifty-five minutes and fired a 
total of fourteen salvos. But luck was the reward 
of our perseverance. On the fourteenth salvo we 
struck the huge ammunition dump next to the enemy 
battery and I have never in my experience seen such 
a huge and magnificent explosion. Our plane, five 
thousand feet above the explosion, even quivered at 



HARDBOILED 47 

the concussion. We, of course, announced to the 
battery that they had hit the target and then started 
for home. The last wireless was unnecessary, how- 
ever, for they had seen the explosion. It was visible 
for several miles around. 

"We were so confused and nervous that we fiddled 
around another half hour before we could find our 
airdrome. We finally landed and poor old Schnurr 
was a nervous wreck. Pride forbids me from ac- 
curately describing myself. 

Schnurr confessed to me later that he barely knew 
how to fly, having had only a few hours in a plane, 
but that he was so anxious to get to the Front that 
he managed to slip by the "Powers that be" and 
finally got there. He begged me not to tell it for 
fear he would be sent back to the rear. Phil was an 
example of the high-spirited boys who first led the 
way for America's aerial fleets. These high-hearted 
men were America's first and greatest contribution. 

However, for Schnurr 's own good I decided that 
he should have more training. I got Brereton off on 
the side and whispered some things in his ear. He 
was furious at the fact that a pilot had been slipped 
over on him who did not know everything about fly- 
ing, and said that he would send Schnurr to the 
rear right away, but when I finished whispering these 
things in his ear he changed his mind, for I repeated 
to Brereton that in my opinion the greatest thing 
an aviator can have is nerve, or to again use the 
Army term, immodest as it is, "Guts;" ability is 



48 LUCK ON THE WING 

only secondary. Then I told him how Schnurr had 
gone on and finished the work and had blown up the 
ammunition. 

Brereton agreed to keep Schnurr, and we gave 
him several hours solo flying under the instruction 
of more experienced pilots before again permitting 
him to go over the lines. 

What happened to Schnurr? Well, he turned out 
to be, in my estimation, undoubtedly, the best ob- 
servation pilot on the entire front, and he went 
through the hard fighting at Chateau Thierry, Saint 
Mihiel and the Argonne, and although he had some 
of the hardest and most discouraging missions ever 
given to a pilot, he was one man who could always 
be counted upon to deliver the goods if it was 
humanly possible. In fact, he became known as "Old 
Reliable," for he never failed. 

On the matter of promotions and decorations Phil 
Schnurr had the worst deal that was ever handed 
to any one. He started as a Second Lieutenant and 
ended that. He was never decorated although rec- 
ommended to my knowledge, at least eight times. 
Something always went wrong. Where several pro- 
posals would go in, Schnurr 's would never go 
through. If any one in the American Army in this 
War should have his chest covered with medals and 
crosses from the Congressional Medal of Honor on 
down — it is Phil Schnurr. 

From this mission, which is small compared to 
some of Phil's later accomplishments, we were both 



HARDBOILED 49 

cited by General Edwards, commanding the 26th 
Division, as follows: 

HEADQUARTERS 26TH DIVISION 
AMERICAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCE 

France, September 17, 1918. 

GENERAL ORDERS 

No. 78 

E xtr act 

* # # 

4. By his accurate registration of Battery F, 101st 
Field Artillery, on June 10, 1918, First Lieut. Elmer 
R. Haslett, 12th Aero Squadron, caused the destruc- 
tion of a large quantity of enemy ammunition, his 
plane being pierced several times during this danger- 
ous work. The Division Commander takes great 
pleasure in acknowledging the valuable aid of this 

officer and congratulates him on his skill and daring. 

* * * 

C. R. Edwards, 
Major General, Commanding. 

After this mission Brereton, himself, classified 
both Schnurr and me as " sufficiently hardboiled." 
The boys took up the refrain and thus, after assum- 
ing the attitude necessary, I finally acquired the title 
and had the emoluments and incidental responsibility 
thrust upon me. 



Ill 



MY FIRST SCRAP 



THE early days in the Toul Sector are remem- 
bered by the aviators in the observation end of 
the game as quiet ones. All the time I was there 
with the Americans I had never even seen a Boche 
plane. I understand they were around all right, but 
all of our young pursuit pilots of the 94th and 95th 
Squadrons were so determined, individually, to be- 
come the first American Ace that they scoured the 
sky from daylight to dusk, and to such a degree of 
success that the Boche thought it rather risky to even 
leave their own airdrome. 

About the middle of June the Eainbow Division 
was down in the Bacarrat-Luneville Sector and 
having been there some time without aviation, it was 
decreed that the 12th Aero Squadron, which had done 
most remarkable work in the Toul Sector, should 
proceed at once to a little place called Flin, near 
Bacarrat, to work with the 42nd Division — the Rain- 
bow — in order that they might have more experience 
in aerial cooperation. 

"We still had our famous old A.R. training busses, 
although we had been again promised everything 
from Spads to Salmsons. So, with our eighteen 

50 



MY FIRST SCRAP 51 

pilots and eighteen observers and our eighteen A.R. 
busses we started for our new station, which was 
about one hundred and fifty kilometers distant. 

"We were supposed to begin work on the following 
day, just as in actual battle, for we were simulating 
a real, active battle move. Our trucks left in the 
afternoon about three o'clock and without mishap, 
should have arrived there about midnight. The 
planes were to wait until the next morning and fly 
down. The truck train got there all right, and got 
busy fixing up quarters and getting ready for im- 
mediate operations. We expected to see our famous 
eighteen planes arrive in a well organized, close 
formation at about eleven o'clock that morning, but 
at eleven they did not arrive and we heard nothing 
from them until about three o'clock, when one of 
our young pilots came from somewhere out of the 
sky and landed. We asked about the other seven- 
teen, to which question he showed the greatest sur- 
prise, and explained that he had been detained by 
motor trouble and had been unable to get off with 
the main formation which had taken off four or five 
hours before him. Immediately Dame Rumor 
stepped forth, and the absence of the other planes 
was attributed to everything from being lost in 
Germany to being shot down by a German plane. 

While we were discussing the matter some one 
noticed two planes very high in the air. We thought, 
of course, that they were our planes and were prob- 
ably lost. Ideas were rampant as to how we were 
going to signal them to get them down, when sud- 



52 LUCK ON THE WING 

denly we heard the splutter-splut-splut, intermit- 
tently, of machine guns way up in the sky. This was 
new to us. "We thought, of course, that some one 
was merely trying out his guns. These ideas were 
soon dispelled for following this short, intermittent 
sound we heard one, steady, singing stream of 
sound — then we knew that an air fight was on. We 
did not have time to realize exactly what was hap- 
pening for the steady stream of fire suddenly ceased 
and we saw one of the planes falling, out of control. 
It was swaying back and forth like a falling leaf, and 
filling the air with a miserable swish-swish sound. 
The horrible speed of the fall caused both wings to 
collapse and fold, and the compact mass soon came 
diving toward earth like a huge torpedo. It crashed 
with a terrible thud on the very edge of our own 
field. When the awful horror of the moment 
passed, we all started to run to see the Boche that 
had been shot down. 

We dragged two crushed and lifeless bodies from 
the debris and in contrite and humble reverence to 
our hostile brothers of the air we removed our caps, 
while the Surgeon began to take off their flying gar- 
ments in, order to find their names. It is hard 
to imagine the ghastly horror of the shock we re- 
ceived, when, upon unfastening the collar of the 
outergarment the green uniform of the German 
aviator was not revealed, but instead the Royal 
Seal of the Crown of England. Two brave, British 
lads had made the Supreme Sacrifice. It is a mem- 
ory that will never be obliterated from my mind, 



MY FIRST SCRAP 53 

and I can well remember how the sentiment of the 
crowd changed like a burning slap, from icy but 
human feeling to one of fiery hatred and cold- 
blooded revenge. High in the sky above the victor 
was winging his way back to the land of the Hun. 
Young Davidson was the only pilot we had there and 
we had only one A.R. on the field. It was the one 
in which Davy had just landed. We knew it would 
be foolhardy to send that Antique Rattletrap up 
against that Hun, but every man in the Squadron 
from the Chief Mechanic to the Major's orderly and 
the second cook wanted to go with Davy to avenge 
our British brothers. Davy and his Observer, how- 
ever, took off but only got several hundred feet when 
the motor stopped. We had no more gasoline, but 
the Hun was already too far toward home and our 
A.R. could never have climbed the altitude at which 
the Boche was flying, so we were obliged to give it up. 
There was no loss of morale, however. Matters 
were too serious to even think of that. The thing 
that was worrying us was what had happened to 
our other seventeen planes. Had they all met the 
fate of the British Tommies? Had they too been 
caught unawares, for a lot of them had flown with 
mechanics at the observers' guns. They had un- 
doubtedly lost their formation and in straggling 
about it was quite easy to suppose that they, too, 
had become an easy prey for the Hun in the Sun. 
Believe me, we worried. Not very long afterwards a 
French soldier came along and handed us some 
messages which had been received at the French 



54 LUCK ON THE WING 

telegraph exchange in a nearby village. They were 
all from our aviators and the wires indicated that 
they were scattered all over that country from Nancy 
to Chaumont, and from Colombey-les-Belles to Lune- 
ville. The whole bunch had gotten lost and in trying 
to pick their separate ways they had certainly made 
a mess of it. I expected to hear of some landing 
at Paris or Bordeaux, but while they did not do 
that, after we finally plotted their various locations 
on our map, take it from me, it was a study in polka- 
dots. One by one they drifted in and outside of 
one valuable plane that had to be salvaged, in a 
couple of days we were able to work. 

Brereton did not arrive with the squadron. He 
had been ordered to General Headquarters for a 
conference of some importance, which occasioned him 
some delay. The morning he arrived, however, he 
brought Henderson, Herold and Hopkins along. 
They had been detached from us at Toul in order 
to take a Gunnery Course at Caseaux, in the south of 
France. 

Henderson again took over his duties as Opera- 
tions Officer. Brereton called me in his office and 
told me a big secret. He stated that there were big 
things ahead — that we were going to Chateau Thierry 
quite soon — that he would be Chief of the Air Service 
for the First Corps and that I would be made a 
Captain and the Operations Officer for the Corps. 
He asked me how many times I had been over the 
lines in the last month to which I answered that it 
was about thirty times. He said that was too much 



MY FIRST SCRAP 55 

and that I needed a rest. He then told me I should 
not fly any more for a couple of weeks, so, I took him 
at his word and settled down for a rest, meanwhile 
forming plans for my new job. I strutted around 
the Squadron and gave as my reasons for retiring, 
that it was for my nerves and the doctor had so 
ordered. The boys all fell for this line and they 
were very thoughtful of me and asked me many 
times each day as to the condition of my nerves. 

In a few days, the 42nd Division was ordered out 
of the line in order to prepare themselves for the 
affair which we afterwards learned was Chateau 
Thierry, and the 77th, which was the first National 
Army unit to go in the trenches, was ordered in the 
line. Their Artillery was not yet ready for work, 
so, some of the 42nd Artillery stayed over to support 
them. The first morning after the 77th took its 
place in the trenches the Germans pulled off a raid, 
the result of which put about six hundred of the 
77th in the hospital from gas and wounds. 

When the raid came off, the first reports we got 
were from the French at daybreak. They said that 
the boche had attacked along the entire divisional 
front from Domevre to Badonvillers, and that we 
should send out a plane at once and find the line in 
order that the General might know where to send 
reinforcements. It was Lieut. Hopkins' turn on alert 
duty, so, he took off right after daylight in the execu- 
tion of his first mission over the lines. Hopkins 
had lots of courage — he was a brave fellow — he got 
tangled up with the " archies' ' and a huge piece of 



56 LUCK ON THE WING 

shell tore away a part of his knee, but he stayed right 
up there trying to execute his mission until he 
realized he was losing consciousness from loss of 
blood. I knew nothing about the attack and was 
still in bed when they dragged old Hoppy in. 

This looked like exciting business for us so when 
they dragged Hoppy in, I got up and began to pay 
attention. Meanwhile they had got the next man 
on the "H" list — Lieutenant Armin F. Herold — 
whom I knew quite well and he had already been 
sent out to get the line. I helped lift Hopkins into 
the ambulance to be taken to the hospital and then 
went over to get my breakfast. I was about half 
finished when some one rushed in and said that 
Herold was also coming in. Of course, we hurried 
out just as the plane taxied up to the hangar. The 
mechanics lifted Herold out of the plane with his 
right leg shattered at the ankle by machine gun 
bullets fired from the ground. He, of course, had 
been unable to get the line of our troops, but 
gamely stated he had gone the limit to find our 
troops having flown most of the time at about two 
hundred meters. 

I saw Brereton looking around for a new crew to 
send out. I knew my name began with "H," but I 
knew also that I had been put on the resting list, 
and furthermore was sick, according to the doctor, 
so my mind was perfectly at ease. There were others 
in our squadron whose names began with "H" — 
among them, Henderson, Harwood and Hinds, and 
we were not restricted to "H's." But Major 



MY FIRST SCRAP 57 

Brereton was known to do funny things. I was 
starting into the mess shack to finish my breakfast 
when I heard that familiar voice and its equally 
familiar inflection demand with a tone of final de- 
cision, "Where's Haslett?" I had a creepy feeling 
run all over my ribs for I knew it was an off-day. 
Brereton came into the mess hall after me. I cer- 
tainly had not gone out to seek him. Then he showed 
the first and only sign of weakness I ever knew him 
to display — "Haslett/' he said, "do you want to 
go and finish this mission?" Always before he 
would have said "Haslett, go and do this mission.' ' 
I neither answered "Yes" or "No" for I could not 
honestly answer "Yes" and I dared not answer 
"No." I simply started to get my flying clothes. 
Johnny Miller, who had been the pilot for Hopkins 
on the first attempt, and who afterwards was killed 
at Chateau Thierry, begged Brereton to be permitted 
to finish the job. Brereton agreed. 

We got into an A.R. plane and I fairly filled the 
cockpit with signal rockets for the Infantry. I was 
determined that there should be no reason for the 
Infantry claiming that they did not see any rockets. 
Johnny gave her the gun, but as we left the ground 
the engine failed. We got the plane back to earth 
without a crash, although we were quite near to one, 
and that was a premonition for me. I had always 
figured that if anything mechanical failed, it was 
certainly a sign that I had no business in the ak 
that day. When that engine failed I told myself 
"Goodbye." I felt my time had come. 



58 LUCK ON THE WING 

We jumped out and got into another plane which 
was the one they had brought Herold back in. The 
cockpit was spattered from one end to the other with 
blood, but we did not have much choice in planes, 
so, we had to take what would run. The sight of 
that blood and honest-to-goodness, downright fear 
caused me to grow momentarily weak. I wanted 
to get out, take the count, and worse. As we were 
getting ready to take off one of my very dearest, 
old friends ran out to the plane, all excited, as if 
the spirit had suddenly moved him. It was Cap- 
tain "Pop" Hinds, who was killed later that same 
day, in an airplane accident. "Haslett, God bless 
you, old boy/' he said, fairly weeping — "something 
tells me this is an off-day, and that you're not 
going to come back. You've taken too many chances 
already. I don't want you to go, old man." Be- 
lieve me, that took all the pep I ever had out of 
me. I leaned over the side of the fuselage and pat- 
ting him on the back said, "Pop, don't let it worry 
you. I'm the luckiest guy in the world — they can't 
get me." And in my soul I thought, "Well, those 
are my last words — they're not half bad at that. 
How will they look on my tombstone?" 

So, I gave Johnny the high sign and we took off. 
I could see Johnny was nervous because in taking 
off, the wing almost scraped the ground. Herold 
had told me where he thought he had seen a panel 
displayed by the Infantry, so I first looked that 
place over and then we flew along the Front at 
exactly five hundred meters above where the line was 



MY FIRST SCRAP 59 

supposed to be. I began shooting off my fire rocket 
signals to the Infantry in order to get them to put 
out their white panels from which I could mark 
their location on my map, but regardless of the many 
rockets I fired they did not put out a single panel. 
We went down to four hundred meters, flew along 
the line for fully twenty-five minutes and fired 
rockets, rockets, rockets. Still there was no sign of 
a panel on the ground. Down to three hundred we 
went — no panels yet. I felt like going home because 
I thought three hundred meters was plenty low 
enough, especially on an off-day, but there was only 
one thing to do — that line had to be located some- 
how, so, we went on down to one hundred. No 
wonder they got Herold, the machine gun fire was 
something terrible. I had already fired my last 
rocket and was never so disgusted in my life for 
there was no response. Finally with the naked eye 
we located our troops at less than one hundred 
meters. I hastily plotted their position. If ever a 
man feels he needs a friend it is when he is going 
through that awful machine gun fire at two hundred 
feet and trying to be composed enough to accurately 
mark on his map the location of things he is seeing 
on the ground. We developed some very fine ob- 
servers like Wright, Baucom, Bradford, Powell and 
Fleeson, who got to be wonders at this work, which 
is, after all, the greatest work of aviation. 

We had been up for about two hours, so, when 
we landed the whole bunch came rushing out to meet 
us, including Brereton. It was the only time I ever 



60 LUCK ON THE WING 

saw him run. I showed him the line and told him 
how we got it — the holes in the plane from machine 
gun bullets convinced him of the truth. I told him 
I would hazard my little reputation that the dough- 
boys did not have any panels to put out, for if 
they had displayed them I would certainly have seen 
them. 

He was genuinely peeved and after telephoning 
the location of the line to appease the growing anxi- 
ety of the French, we got into Brereton 's car to go 
to Divisional Headquarters to find out what was the 
matter with the Infantry. 

We arrived at Bacarrat, went to the Division 
Headquarters, and the Signal Officer, in reply to our 
inquiry, told us quite unconcernedly, that the Divi- 
sion had panels all right, but this had been their 
first occasion to use them and they had not been 
issued for the doughboys would get them soiled, or 
might use them for handkerchiefs or the like. 
Brereton, of course, was in a rage and we demanded 
to see the Commanding General of Infantry. On duty 
at the Infantry Post of Command was a Lieutenant 
Colonel in the National Army, who had probably 
held some big job in civilian life, but who was cer- 
tainly not born a soldier. He said that the General 
had been awake all night and had just gotten to 
sleep after the morning raid and so he did not care 
to awaken him under any circumstances. Brereton 
began to cuss in great style and said he'd be blamed 
if he'd send his aviators out any more to be killed 
unless he got some cooperation from the Infantry 



MY FIRST SCRAP 61 

and it was a terrible note when the Chief of a 
Service could not see the General when an all-im- 
portant matter was pending and that if this Brig- 
ade wanted the Air Service to work with them they 
had better show some willingness to help. He then 
demanded that the panels be issued at once. The 
Lieutenant Colonel began to show a little concern, 
and although he was looking right straight at our 
wings, he asked, "Are you aviators?" Brereton 
said, "Yes, of course. What did you think we 
were?'' The old boy then showed some speed; he 
got hold of the telephone and after saying "Sir" 
many times in order to appease the wrath of the 
General who had been so rudely awakened and so 
as not to increase his disfavor, proceeded to tell him 
that the Airplane Major was here, and wanted to 
talk to him. Brereton was forced to laugh at this 
new title and for some time afterwards we all called 
him the "Airplane Major." The General of course 
realized the gravity of the situation and was also 
mighty peeved about the failure to provide the 
troops with panels. The mission ended with the 
agreement that the panels would be issued imme- 
diately and the General expressed his sincere regret 
at the loss of our aviators, and, I believe, became 
converted to the fact that the Air Service was also 
a factor to be considered in winning a war. 

On our way back to the airdrome we stopped at 
Artillery Headquarters and they wanted us to go up 
that afternoon and do an artillery adjustment, as 
a couple of batteries were sorely in need of more 



62 LUCK ON THE WING 

accurate regulation in view of further raids by the 
Germans. When the Artillery Colonel asked who 
would do the work Brereton looked at me and I 
looked at Brereton, and I knew it was settled. 
"Why, Lieutenant Haslett here has been worked 
pretty hard and I wanted him to rest up, but I guess 
he can do this one and then take a rest." The Ar- 
tillery Colonel was surprised, but I was more sur- 
prised at what he said — ■ ' So you are Haslett ! Well, 
well, I'm glad to know you. Colonel Sherburne of 
the 26th Division Artillery told one of our Majors 
about a big mission you pulled off for him in the 
Toul Sector. We sure will be glad to have you 
work with us." This was the first recognition of 
this kind that I had ever gotten and coming from 
Sherburne it was like a million dollars to me, for he 
was one of the greatest men with whom I had ever 
worked. Of course, after that compliment I was 
delighted and I certainly would not have let any one 
else do the adjustment at all. I felt like a hero 
with three wings. I was determined to do the best 
adjustment I had ever done in my life. 

When we got to Bacarrat on the way to the air- 
drome, an orderly handed Brereton a message which 
dampened my spirit and determination completely. 
It read that Captain Hinds — Pop Hinds — the old 
man who that morning had told me about his pre- 
monition that it was an off-day and that I ought not 
go for I would not come back — was himself killed 
while taking off from the airdrome, his plane having 
gone into a tailspin. His observer, another "H" — 



MY FIRST SCRAP 63 

Henderson, the Operations Officer, was seriously in- 
jured. This news hurt me more than any I had ever 
received. Pop was about forty-six years old and 
had gone into the flying game simply from the desire 
to help along American Aviation, having had some 
little amateur training before the War. We had 
tried our best to get him back from the front be- 
cause we realized that the old fellow didn't have 
much of a show against the Hun and under actual 
fighting conditions, but Pop would not go back. He 
was always the first to volunteer' for any mission. A 
braver man I have never seen. He was a real daddy 
to us all and his great human understanding and 
sympathy caused us to pay him a marked deference 
and respect. He often won a lot of money from 
the officers playing poker, but in his characteristic 
unselfishness, he spent it all for candy, cigars, ciga- 
rettes and tobacco for the enlisted men and me- 
chanics. He was their idol and there was little, if 
anything, that they would not do for him. 

Henderson was one of my best friends and happily 
though he was not killed, it had a peculiar signifi- 
cance to me that one hundred per cent of the day's 
casualties were "H's." It looked like an off-day 
for the "H's" without a doubt There were only 
three of us left — one was the Ordnance Officer, Hall 
by name, who was not a flyer; Harwood, who was 
busy as could be on some assignments ; and myself. 

The only "H" left was to do an artillery adjust- 
ment that afternoon. I thought it might be a good 
idea to put off that adjustment until the next day, 



U LUCK ON THE WING 

but I could not get up the courage to tell Brereton 
my honest convictions. 

When we got to the airdrome every one was feel- 
ing mighty low, because these were our first casual- 
ties, outside of the loss of Angel and Emerson in the 
Toul Sector. The bunch all felt that though the 
sun was still shining and it was a good day for 
flying that there were better days ahead. Even the 
squadron surgeon sent out the recommendation that 
the flying be suspended for the day. I felt quite 
relieved for I could not conceive of any one going 
against the recommendation of the " Medico. " But 
this did not appeal to Brereton. In his character- 
istic manner he loudly and emphatically announced 
that he was not going to let a little thing like that 
stop the War; if a squadron went to the Front they 
must expect some casualties and that flying would 
go right on. I did not eat any dinner; I did not 
care for it; for, as usual, I did not agree with 
Brereton. I honestly felt that flying ought to be 
suspended in deference to old "Pop" Hinds if for 
no other reason at all. 

I really dreaded that flight and even the praise 
of that Artillery Colonel meant nothing in my life. 
No one came out to see us off. It was the wrong 
atmosphere. There was gloom in the sky, gloom on 
the ground, and gloom within our own beings. In 
fact, the whole world looked like a dark cloud. The 
ordinarily jovial mechanics were all acting like a 
bunch of pall bearers. 

Brereton gave me a pilot by the name of West, 



MY FIRST SCRAP 65 

which to my mind seemed particularly pertinent for 
I sure felt as though I were going in that direction. 

For protection they sent a plane piloted by 
Schnurr with whom I had previously had a narrow 
escape and as his observer they sent Thompson 
against whom I had no complaint at all, for Thomp- 
son on his first flight over the lines with the French, 
shot down an enemy plane. His presence, of course, 
was no meager consolation, for while I did not want 
any drawing cards along, I felt that if the Germans 
were going to attack it would be a good thing to 
have some one along who could do the fighting, be- 
cause my experience in actual fighting up to this 
time put me in about the same class that the St. 
Louis Nationals generally have in the Baseball Club 
standing. I was at the bottom of the list. In fact, 
Thompson was the only one in the squadron who had 
so far had a fight and that was while he was with 
the French. 

When we got over our battery I began to call them 
on the radio and they put out their panels. We 
picked out the target which we had agreed upon 
and sent the signal to fire. I had promised to adjust 
two batteries. The plan was to finish the adjustment 
of the first battery and then begin the second. So, 
after an hour and a half I completed the first ad- 
justment after about fifteen salvos, which, I admit, 
was rather rotten work, then I started on the second. 

The name of my second target was " Travail 
Blanc" which consisted of a section of the trench 
which was especially heavily fortified with machine 



66 LUCK ON THE WING 

guns, having a sweep on our lines in the ravine 
beneath. I had just given them their first signal 
to fire, and of course, these batteries not having had 
a great deal of experience in adjusting artillery fire 
by airplane, were very, very slow in firing. Ordi- 
narily the observer can time the firing, as a prompt 
battery tires immediately upon getting the signal 
from the airplane, and the observer can see the burst 
almost immediately thereafter. It is extremely im- 
portant to get the first salvo bursts, for from this 
the observer knows approximately where to look for 
the next. So, having pressed the key, I was oblivious 
to all else in the world except the area immediately 
surrounding Travail Blanc. I must have eyed it 
for fully thirty seconds, which is an unusually long 
time to watch one particular spot on the earth, for 
with the speed of a modern German airplane against 
my antique A.R., in thirty seconds the Hun could 
get in a very advantageous place from out of a cloud 
or the sun. I was still straining my eyes on Tra- 
vail Blanc when I heard the rat-a-tat-tat of some- 
thing. It was the first time I had heard machine 
guns firing in the air while in the air myself, so 
I felt that we had probably lost altitude and that 
they were firing at us from the ground. I knew 
that I could not remedy the situation now, so I again 
turned my eyes toward Travail Blanc, when I saw 
the four bursts of the salvo strike about two hun- 
dred yards from the target. I had just started to 
reach for my key to send the correction to the bat- 
tery when again I heard the long, continuous rat- 



MY FIRST SCRAP 67 

a-tat-tat of a machine gun getting louder and louder. 
I leaned over the fuselage to take a look at the 
ground beneath me. I thought we should be high* 
enough so that they could not possibly be firing at 
me and I could not figure what it was. I wondered 
where Schnurr and Thompson, my protectors, were, 
so I began to scan the air directly above me. As I 
threw my head backwards a streak of fire crossed my 
face barely missing me. I realized that ' 'White 
Work*' (Travail Blanc) was all wrong; my imme- 
diate target was ''Dirty Work," for instead of see- 
ing my protecting plane above me there was bearing 
down upon us, with a speed that was indescribable, 
and spitting a thousand balls of deadly fire at me 
every minute, a German Albatros Scout Fighter, 
and directly behind it were two others of the same 
type. The Hun was already not over a hundred 
feet from me and was coming on every iota of a 
second with the speed of lightning and with a deadly 
accuracy of fire that seemed to preclude any defense. 
I had been caught napping and it was now only 
a question of which one of the thousands of bullets 
that were flashing all around me that would get me 
first. He was so close that had it been necessary 
for me to move my machine gun one particle of an 
inch he would have finished with me before I could 
have fired a single shot. The Hun very well knew 
that he had caught me unawares and that I could 
not possibly do anything to defend myself. Like a 
flash my finger flew to the trigger of my machine 
gun, which was resting in its ordinary position o» 



68 LUCK ON THE WING 

the tourrelle. I did not move it an inch, for for- 
tune had pointed it directly in line with the oncom- 
ing German. Already the bullets began singing 
from my gun and by the grace of good fortune they 
were going directly into him. On he came and it 
seemed that a collision was unavoidable, then with 
the speed of lightning he dived under me. West 
saw this dive and sharply banked the plane to keep 
me in a firing position and as the boche began to 
zoom to a position under my tail I again let him 
have it. I was surprised at the apparent accuracy! 
of my guns. The Hun made a loop and dived 
toward home. I knew he was disabled and could 
not come back. There were still two other enemy 
planes coming on, but strange things happen in the 
air, for the other two did not fire a single shot, but 
turned and flew toward a light fringe of clouds high 
above us. I have never, however, been able to ac- 
count for their failure to attack simultaneously with 
the attack of the first. For once I was close enough 
to a Hun to see not only the Iron Maltese Cross but 
also the fatal cross that stared me squarely in the 
face. It is not a pleasant feeling. The first plane 
got to Germany all right, but I am quite sure he was 
forced to land before he reached his airdrome. I 
have a hunch, too, that he took his machine guns 
out on a cement sidewalk and broke them to pieces, 
for if ever an aviator had the death grip on his 
adversary they all had it on me. In a moment I saw 
Schnurr and Thompson, who were flying quite low. 
It seems that they were attacked first, which ac- 



MY FIRST SCRAP 69 

counts for the first gun shots I heard, and the Hun, 
having gotten on their tail first, they were forced to 
dive. In a few minutes the two Huns in the cloud 
were joined by a third, but fortunately the sun was 
on our side, so the only thing to do was to watch that 
cloud. Regardless of these Huns, Schnurr and 
Thompson began climbing and soon reached their 
position directly behind us. 

I wanted to go home in the worst way but the first 
law we had learned was that the presence of enemy 
planes is no excuse in observation for failure to 
perform the mission assigned. For once in my 
career I had completely lost my courage and pointed 
toward home. The starch had been taken out of me 
completely and it was quite immaterial to me what 
any one wanted to think about our quitting. I felt 
that enough was enough and I had more than 
enough. As we passed over our battery, however, 
my mind turned to that new Division which had 
just come in that morning and who were doing their 
first service in the lines ; in fact, it was the first time 
one of our National Army divisions had been placed 
in the line. They had been gassed on their first day. 
"What would they think? 

This thought of what those lads in the trenches, 
who, of course, had seen the entire fight, would say 
when they saw an American aviator quit, changed 
my whole attitude and, to be frank, saved me from 
becoming a downright coward. I knew that nothing 
helped the morale of the doughboys more than to 
see American nerve displayed in the air and, on the 



70 LUCK ON THE WING 

other hand, nothing pulled them down more than to 
see the lack of it. So, I shook the plane and mo- 
tioned West to turn around. I threw my switch in, 
clutched the key and with an unsteady hand pro- 
ceeded to send the correction of the first salvo which 
I had seen, but which I almost had not lived to 
report. 

I afterwards learned that the boys at the radio 
receiving set at the Artillery checked each other up 
on the receipt of this message, so dubious were they 
that it had been sent from our plane. In a few 
minutes the battery put out the signal "Keceived 
and Battery is ready." I then told West to fly in 
the direction of the line and the three Huns, al- 
though I knew quite well if we flew that way we 
were going to be attacked, but it would be a sportier 
combat, at least, for I had been caught asleep for 
the first and only time. I gave the wireless signal 
to the battery to fire, but I confess I was not looking 
at the "White Work" target, I was keeping an eye 
on the three Boche in the sky, looking for more dirty 
work. The Huns made no sign whatever to attack — 
they simply kept circling above us in that slender 
line of clouds. 

This was the worst adjustment I have ever been 
guilty of performing. I simply could not watch the 
target. We went ahead for an hour and fifteen 
minutes and during that time we fired a total of 
seventeen salvos, of which I saw but seven, for my 
mind was not on the work — I was busy with the 
cloud. At the end of the seventeen salvos, the Huns 



MY FIRST SCRAP 71 

came out of the sky and started in our direction, 
then playfully changed their course and flew back 
into Hunland. I watched them until they were 
completely out of sight for I knew they would have 
to go home some time. Actually I was never so 
relieved in my life, not for the reason that we were 
safe from further interruption, but from the fact 
that we had buffaloed them and were the winners of 
the day's combat against great odds. 

But I was certain that it was only a question of 
time before they would have to leave that cloud for 
a chasse (pursuit) plane does not carry the same 
large amount of gasoline as an observation plane, 
and can not stay in the air as long in a single flight. 
I was delighted and beaming all over, and especially 
happy to think, or rather imagine, what was taking 
place in the trenches below us — those hardboiled 
doughboys were, perhaps, congratulating themselves 
that they too were Americans. 

Our gas was running extremely low and it was get- 
ting late in the evening, but with two additional 
salvos, when my mind was free from "enemy 
planes," we succeeded in putting the battery directly 
on the target. We then signaled for destruction fire 
and signaled we were going home. Right above the 
airdrome the motor stopped and we had to glide 
in. We had used our last drop of gasoline. 

As the airdrome was only twelve kilometers from 
the line every one had seen the fight and had seen 
us stick it out. It was really a joyous time and we 
all got a real welcome. Even Brereton came across. 



72 LUCK ON THE WING 

It was the first and only time in my life I ever heard 
him compliment any one or anything. What he 
praised, however, was not "us" but the plane, in 
that the Antique Rattletrap was not such a bad old 
bus after all. Then every one got around the plane 
to count the holes made by the enemy airplane. I 
did not wait to see how it came out for I wanted 
to get to my bunk and collect myself. I was told 
later, however, that twenty-one holes were counted — 
then the mechanics got tired and quit. 



IV 



THE one characteristic above all others that made 
Major Lewis Hyde Brereton respected by both 
those under him, and his superiors, was the fact 
that he flew over the lines continuously and he 
never assigned any one to a mission that he would 
not do himself. All the boys were acquainted with 
his record for he not only fought in the air, but also 
on the ground. He kept his remarkable hold on 
men for they knew he was a fighter from the word 
"Go." His whole career had been marked by a 
series of brilliant ideas which were so radical and 
revolutionary that they always took him into a fight 
before obtaining their adoption. 

For instance, he came to France with a large num- 
ber of other officers — about two hundred in all — 
who accompanied Brigadier General Foulois, the lat- 
ter having come over to take command of the Air 
Service of the American Expeditionary Force. The 
majority of the officers in the party were Brereton 's 
superiors, and it seemed that he was going to be 
swallowed up with many others in the service of 
supply, or in those days, what was called line of 
communications, which was in the rear, for out of 

73 



74 LUCK ON THE WING 

that large number it seemed that but few were des- 
tined to reach the Front. Brereton immediately 
asked for the command of a squadron at the front. 
The authorities, of course, laughed at him and po- 
litely informed him that the Americans only had one 
squadron at the front and it had gone forward only 
a few days ago and that all the other squadrons in 
France had competent officers assigned to them; be- 
sides, the other squadrons could not go to the front 
for a long, long time on account of not having the 
proper planes and equipment, the production 
scheme in America having fallen down. This did 
not sound encouraging to Brereton so he arranged to 
have himself assigned to a tour of inspection at 
Amanty, near Gondrecourt, which was the place 
designated for our future observation squadrons to 
assemble before going to the Front. When he got 
there he found that it was true that only one squad- 
ron had, as yet, gone to the Front, but that there 
were three other squadrons then at Amanty — the 
12th, 88th and 91st waiting for service airplanes 
before moving up for action. All these squadrons 
had old training planes, the A.R.'s — Avion Eenaults, 
The squadrons were to leave in the order of the 
88th first, then the 91st and then the 12th, accord- 
ing to the rank of the Commanding Officers of each. 
Major Harry Brown was then in command of the 
12th Squadron and Brereton found by accident, that 
Brown was extremely anxious to get into the bom- 
bardment end of the game and was more or less 
dissatisfied that the 12th was to be made an Ob- 



BRERETON 'S FAMOUS FLIGHT 75 

servation Squadron. Brereton found that an assign- 
ment to bombardment would more than please 
Brown so he wasted no time on further inspection. 
He had happened onto his great opportunity, and 
he departed immediately for Colombey-les-Belles, 
which was the Headquarters of the Air Service, Zone 
of Advance. 

Arriving at Headquarters, he presented Major 
Brown's request to be transferred to Clermont-Fer- 
rand to take a course in Bombardment in order that 
he might command our first Bombardment Squad- 
ron. This visit resulted in two orders being issued 
— the first relieved Major Harry Brown from the 
12th and ordered him to Clermont, and the other 
designated as Commanding Officer of the 12th Aero 
Squadron, an officer previously unheard of in avia- 
tion at the front — Lewis Hyde Brereton. 

Brereton asked permission to take his squadron to 
the front immediately, whereupon they thought him 
insane. It was pointed out to him that on account 
of not having service planes the squadron could not 
possibly get to the front before six weeks. Brere- 
ton went into one of his famous "pouts," in which 
he puckers up his face like a baby about to cry, and 
said that we would never have an Air Service on 
the Front if they were going to be that particular. 
His idea was to take what we had and use it. He 
argued that since the squadron was going to work 
over a quiet sector they could operate just as well 
with training planes as with service planes, provid- 
ing they had machine guns. 



76 LUCK ON THE WING 

Fortunately, he had hit upon the psychological 
argument for at that time every one in America was 
demanding the reason why we did not have squad- 
rons at the front. There was a terrible mess going 
on about the Liberty motor and the other airplane 
scandals, so those in power agreed that it would 
help conditions materially to be able to say that we 
had squadrons at the front, rather than one squad- 
ron, so after considerable argument Brereton was 
authorized to take his squadron to the front at once 
with such equipment as they had. 

So, the 88th and 91st were left at Amanty and 
the new comer arrived with orders in his hand to 
move the squadron forward for action. 

Thus when it came time to pick a leader for of- 
fensive operations, General Mitchell knew what he 
was about when he selected Brereton for the Cha- 
teau-Thierry affair. He wanted a fighter and he 
got a fighter, for with his characteristic foresight 
Brereton prepared for any eventuality. He quite 
well knew that something would likely happen any 
day and he did not intend to let the observation 
end fall down if it was humanly possible to prevent 
it. His job was to accomplish the impossible; our 
11 quiet sector" units must be prepared for a great 
and long offensive, and they must be gotten ready 
quick. 

Brereton selected Lieutenant Ben Harwood as his 
Liaison Officer, Lieutenant Mathis as his Informa- 
tion Officer and put me in charge of the Operations, 
so, we were gone from morning until late at night, 



BRERETON 'S FAMOUS PLIGHT 77 

traveling between the squadrons, corps headquarters 
and the various divisional headquarters, getting 
proper cooperation worked up and, in fact, getting 
some semblance of organization. The covetous eye 
of the Hun already looked on Paris. It was only a 
question of days until the German hand would be 
extended to grasp what the eye had seen. 

The Huns held complete supremacy of the air. 
They dominated in the ratio of five to one and flew 
about in droves of fifteen and twenty. Where a 
fight on a mission had previously been the rare 
exception to our flyers it was now the common rule. 
We were very short of pursuit planes. Our Pur- 
suit Squadrons — four in number — were trying to 
take care of not only our own Corps area, but also 
other areas held by the French and which adjoined 
us. As a result, very little direction protection was 
furnished to the Observation planes. So, the boys 
knew pretty well when they went out for a mission 
that it meant a scrap. 

There was only one time at Chateau-Thierry when 
the Boche did not have the complete supremacy of 
the air. This was on July first at the Battle of Vaux, 
at which place Johnny Miller and I did the prelimi- 
nary adjustment and Brereton and I did the artil- 
lery control for the Americans during the battle. 
We had every American pursuit and observation 
plane we could get off of the ground. There were 
not less than ninety-six planes in that formation — - 
their mission being to protect the Infantry plane 
and to protect Brereton and me, who were doing the 



78 LUCK ON THE WING 

artillery work. There was such a swarm of planes 
above us that we practically never looked into the 
sky, but kept our attention entirely on the work' 
before us. This was my idea of real protection. It 
was the nearest we ever came to our big threat to 
literally blacken the skies by droves of American 
airplanes. However, none of these were American 
airplanes, although the aviators were Americans. 
This was the first time in the war that the doughboy 
was brought to realize that there were really other 
American aviators than those famous ground flyers 
who took off and landed so often at the famous Hotel 
Crillion Bar Airdrome in Paris and who were so 
accurately described by Irvin Cobb. 

The Yaux affair seemed to me just like the prac- 
tice control of artillery fire that I once did on the 
blackboard in school exercises. It was really one of 
the easiest jobs I ever did and for which I probably 
received more credit. The previous day I had 
passed over the town and was happy for the poor 
peasants that it had been spared, for even though 
in the hands of the enemy it was practically intact. 
Now it was a shell-torn blot of destroyed homes, 
made more desolate by the scattered bodies of the 
German dead — and I had been one of the guiding 
masters of its ruin. 

From the first of July to the fifteenth we were 
continuously engaged in making the best possible 
preparations for what we knew must come. On the 
morning of the fifteenth it came. It came from 
Chateau-Thierry along to Rheims. The first day we 



BRERETON'S FAMOUS FLIGHT 79 

did not worry a great deal for we confidently felt 
that the Germans would never be able to cross the 
Marne as all the bridges had been blown up, but on 
the morning of the sixteenth day things were mighty 
blue. An American pursuit plane immediately after 
daylight, reported that the Germans had constructed 
pontoon bridges in different places and were already 
sweeping across the Marne. 

This flight by a pursuit plane and the resulting 
information was, I think, unquestionably one of 
the greatest flights of the entire war. I did not 
learn until several days later who the aviator really 
was. No one seemed to know, nor could we find any 
record on the regular reports. The French Army 
Commander told me the source from which he had 
gotten this timely information as to the presence of 
the pontoons. It seems that General William 
Mitchell, who commanded all American Aviation at 
the Front, had been at the French Army Head- 
quarters during the night of the fifteenth, getting 
the reports from the Front and making his aerial 
dispositions accordingly. An hour before daybreak 
on the morning of the sixteenth he left the French 
Headquarters and without telling any one his in- 
tended movements he drove his high-powered auto- 
mobile, with all haste, to the American Pursuit Air- 
drome about fifty kilometers away. Climbing into 
a single place Spad, the General hastily drew out a 
pocket notebook and scribbled a few words to his 
chief of staff, and handed this note to his mechanic. 
Then the General headed his plane into the wind 



80 LUCK ON THE WING 

and with whirring motor sailed off into the somber 
darkness. At the first glimpse of dawn he was over 
Fere-en-Tardenois, fifteen miles within the German 
lines. He saw the glare of the village, but the usual 
whiteness of the roads was not there — they were of 
a greenish hue, like the morning mist surrounding 
them. It was hard to comprehend the magnitude of 
this view. Heading south for five miles, the roads 
presented the same aspect. From fifteen thousand 
feet the General swept down to three thousand. 
Here he could realize the awful fact of what was 
taking place below him — the whitened roads were 
green with the thousands of German troops driving 
on toward the Marne with the steadiness and de- 
termination of a huge caterpillar. On south he flew 
— the Germans were everywhere — infesting the 
whole salient like a plague of locusts. Reaching the 
Marne, it was certain the inevitable had happened — 
one, two, three, four, five — five pontoon bridges 
already across and the onrushing Huns were march- 
ing across in terrible precision. 

It was singularly fortunate that the man who 
undertook this hazardous mission was a rare tacti- 
cian and strategist. He realized the awful truth 
where the ordinary airman would not have conceived 
the possibilities of such a situation. The General 
knew that the biggest German Army ever concen- 
trated was on the move in a final effort to intimidate 
and conquer the world. 

He made a landing in a small wheat field at the 
French Arnry Headquarters. It would have been 



BRERETON'S FAMOUS FLIGHT 81 

folly to go on to the American Airdrome for if ever 
seconds were golden this was the time. He told the 
supreme commander the extent of his observation 
and how far back the Germans were concentrated. 
It was realized that it would be absolutely incon- 
ceivable to attempt to hold back this advance by a 
frontal attack. There was only one thing to do — 
we must flank the German Army and force them 
to withdraw or be annihilated. This must be done 
within three days or the Germans would break the 
line of our armies and march unmolested to Paris, 
coming up and flanking our own Northern forces. 
Going to his own Headquarters, the General was 
handed the note he had written to his distinguished 
chief of operations, Captain Phil Roosevelt. It sim- 
ply stated that if he did not return by eight o'clock 
that morning to notify Brereton to take command of 
the American Aviation at the Front. The distin- 
guished Roosevelt had also been out doing some 
rough riding so the note had never reached his 
hands. 

This flight of General Mitchell's needs no com- 

I ment — it was no less than wonderful, and when the 

t flyers finally heard who had made it, our morale was 

strengthened one hundred per cent. We felt we had 

a fighting General sure enough. 

The Germans continued their crossing on the six- 
teenth, sweeping on down toward Epernay on the 
seventeenth and on the night of the seventeenth it 
rained. It rained all night ; and all night long, pass- 
ing our headquarters were troops going up to the 



82 LUCK ON THE WING 

front; all night long we could hear their continuous 
tramping; the roads were hydraulically jammed 
with cannons, ammunition trains, supplies and 
troops. They were going to Chateau-Thierry. They 
were retreating from the south it seemed, but why 
did they come to this side of the salient? Why not 
stop the Germans by a frontal defense? 

In a few hours we knew why for on the night of 
the seventeenth, at nine o'clock we received orders 
from General DeGouttes of the French Army that 
the French Army, in connection with the First Amer- 
ican Army Corps, would attack all the way from 
Soissons to Chateau-Thierry in an effort to flank the 
German advance and would continue at any and all 
costs until the Germans were forced to withdraw 
from the salient or face annihilation. 

The attack was to start at daybreak on the fol- 
lowing morning. Then I heard of Mitchell's flight 
and information. His recommendations had been 
concurred in by Marshal Foch and General Pershing. 
There was some activity in our headquarters. We 
got hold of our squadron and balloon commanders 
and ordered them to report immediately. By the 
time they all got there it was eleven thirty at night. 
Harwood was still up at the line where he had been 
all day in liaison with the line units. Brereton was 
over in conference with the Corps Commander, Gen- 
eral Liggett. Lieutenant Mathis was busy getting 
out the necessary maps, so, I took the orders for the 
battle and, like a young Napoleon, I told the whole 
story and made the aerial dispositions for the first 



BRERETON'S FAMOUS FLIGHT 83 

day. Fortunately the squadron and balloon units 
had already been assigned to the various line units 
and had made some arrangements. Of course, the 
suddenness of the attack, and the short time we had 
been there, had caused many details to be incom- 
plete. I told them that they would still have to go 
up to the lines that night and see the units to which 
they were assigned in order to be on the job at 
daybreak. This was absolutely necessary and yet it 
did not seem that they could possibly be able to 
get there due to the roads being packed with the 
on-marching troops. It was a great question, but 
it was the only way possible. Ben Harwood, our 
liaison officer, saved the day, for he came in just as 
I was about to dismiss them. Ben had shown his 
natural initiative and resourcefulness, and had al- 
ready been to every American unit. He had gotten 
the big news while still at the front lines and had, 
very fortunately, obtained all the necessary liaison 
information. Harwood took over the meeting, ex- 
plained everything he had learned from the line 
units, and by one-thirty o'clock all the squadron and 
balloon commanders were on their way back to their 
organizations to get out the necessary orders and to 
see that the planes were at the lines at zero hour. 

The rain stopped just before daj^break. It seemed 
that even the heavens were effecting a close, imme- 
diate and personal liaison with us, as Harwood 
would say. "When the barrage lifted and the boys 
went over the top in America's first big effort, they 
found there to cheer them and to assist them the 



84 LUCK ON THE WING 

drone of airplanes, upon the wings of which was 
painted the American cocarde. It was the real 
launching of American aviation — it was truly the 
beginning of the end. 

We were tremendously handicapped by the short- 
age of pilots and observers and during the entire 
period of the offensive we were unable to get replace- 
ments for our casualties. In our office we were tak- 
ing care of the transmission of every order pertain- 
ing to the Air Service, taking care of the aviation 
movements, issuing of instructions, getting out the 
necessary reports and information. Our office per- 
sonnel consisted of Colonel Brereton, Lieutenant 
Harwood, Lieutenant Ma this and Sergeant " Spike" 
Marlin, of whom I cannot speak too highly for stick- 
ing to the job throughout that prolonged period. 
The boy was sick at the time, but knowing we had 
no one else, he stayed right with it and worked on 
the average of twenty hours a day for two weeks 
straight. I might incidentally say that all of the 
rest did the same. In fact, our real activities began 
when the Germans made their attack on the fifteenth 
and with our shortage of personnel it was necessary* 
that some one be on the job day and night. Our 
losses were terrible. It began to tell on me for I 
was losing all my dearest friends. 

Tired and exhausted under this three days' strain, 
in which we had about two hours sleep nightly, on 
the third day of our own drive, namely, the twen- 
tieth of July, at about ten in the morning, it was 
deemed necessary by the American and French High 



BRERETON'S FAMOUS FLIGHT 85 

Commanders that a long distance reconnaissance 
should be made immediately in order to determine as 
near as possible the intention of the enemy. The 
Americans did not have an Army Reconnaissance 
Squadron at Chateau-Tliierry at the time so the mis- 
sion came to us for proper action. 

I talked it over with Brereton and we agreed that 
in order to do the mission properly with full justice 
to every one concerned it would take not less than 
twenty-five planes and considering the distance of 
the mission, the time necessary in the air to com- 
plete it, and the supremacy of the air held by the 
Germans, based upon the average of our casualties, 
we decided we would lose not less than eight of these 
planes, with a minimum of sixteen officers. 

But things were in a very peculiar situation. We 
had been temporarily stopped and it was necessary 
to find out whether the Germans intended to make 
a firm stand or whether their stand was only tem- 
porary, in order to give them time to withdraw their 
forces from the south. When we came to our de- 
cision we consulted the high command, telling them 
the number of planes it would take and what our 
minimum losses would be. We impressed upon them 
our already heavy casualties and how short we were 
of airplanes. The answer was that the importance 
of the mission would justify all losses should the de- 
sired information be gained. 

At this answer I suddenly became a tactician and 
strategist. I hit Brereton with the suggestion that 
if we could find a pilot and an observer who were 



86 LUCK ON THE WING 

overloaded with "guts" and properly ' ' hardboiled ' ' 
and who did not care much for their lives, they 
might be able to get in fine by going very low and 
thus get the information. My idea was that if we 
went in with twenty -five planes this would be such a 
force that the Germans would be able to concentrate 
practically their entire Richtofen circus against us 
before we would have had time to make the large 
circuit assigned and get out, while if one plane went 
in, extremely low, several favorable suppositions 
might be possible; namely, the German Chasse 
Patrols, high in the heavens above, seeing a plane 
so far behind the line, would not think that it could 
possibly be other than a friendly plane ; and being by 
itself, the anti-aircraft and the command reporting 
it would not call out so much pursuit as they other- 
wise would; and, furthermore, being alone the pur- 
suit planes would not have so much chance of finding 
it. I agreed with Brereton that it was practically 
hopeless, but at the same time it was a long chance 
and as it was in the middle of the day, if this mission 
failed we could have another mission of the twenty- 
five planes required, in readiness to take off to 
perform the mission in compliance with the original 
plan. This large formation could leave as soon as 
definite news was obtained that the first plane had 
been shot down, or that it had failed to return after 
a reasonable time. Brereton laughed sarcastically 
and said, "That idea is just about as feasible as a 
single aviator trying to fly to Berlin, picking out 



BRERETON 'S FAMOUS FLIGHT 87 

the Kaiser from the rest of the squareheads and 
hitting him with a bomb. ,, 

I accused him of being arbitrary for not giving 
valid reasons against the plan whereupon he sprang 
to his feet and puckering up in his singular way, ex- 
claimed, "I am running this Air Service, Lieutenant, 
and I don't need any suggestions from First Lieu- 
tenants. ' ' 

Tired and exhausted from lack of sleep, a court 
martial didn't matter any more to me than five cents 
does to a millionaire, and Brereton, who had suffered 
the same loss of sleep and, of course, more serious 
irritation on account of his responsibility, did not 
care any more for a poor Lieutenant than an ele- 
phant does for a fly. The dog's hair had been 
rubbed the wrong way for I reared up on my hind 
legs and began to paw air and it looked like the 
Corps Air Service was to have a slight disruption. 
I was so sore that I almost bawled. I hotly in- 
formed Brereton that if I was to hold the job of 
Operations Officer I intended to express my opinion, 
and if it wasn't approved, he had a right to say 
so in a military manner, and in no other. 

Then came my downfall. I raved on, "I'm get- 
ting good and tired of this proposition of being stuclf 
up on one of these bullet-proof jobs when all my 
buddies are flying two and three times a day and 
getting killed," and after a moment of silence, I 
continued, "I came over to be a fighter and I want 



88 LUCK ON THE WING 

to go to the Squadron and take my chances with the 
rest of them." 

Brereton was worn out and was in no mood to 
be irritated. "Well," he sharply and decisively re- 
plied, "if you want to go down to the Squadron, 
go ahead, no one's holding you." 

This made me more peevish than ever, for I had 
in some way or other acquired the idea that the 
Corps Air Service could not possibly exist without 
me. My pride was bruised forever. With even 
more irony he went on as if to leave no opportunity 
for a repetition of such bluffing on my part, "If 
you're feo hardboiled and brave, why don't you 
tackle the mission you just outlined. Go ahead and 
win yourself the Croix de Bois (Cross of Wood)." 

I was serious about the proposition; I was pretty 
sure of getting killed, but after that last sneering 
remark my decision was formed. Momentarily, I 
hated Lewis Hyde Brereton more than I ever hated 
any one in my life, but I knew his weakness, so, I 
was determined that we should die together. 

"Well, why don't you go on?" he hotly demanded. 

It was up tome; I did not have the composure of 
a jack-rabbit, and I began to paw air again, pound 
the table and turn red, and said, "Well, Major L. H. 
Brereton, I'll go, you know that, and I'll get the 
information, but I can't pilot a plane. I am the 
observer. If you will order," and I accentuated 
"order," "a pilot for me, there will be no further 
delay." 

I knew he would do it. He only needed to be 



BREKETON'S FAMOUS FLIGHT 89 

brought to the psychological moment. I knew his 
big nature would not permit him to order any one 
on such a mission. Changing from his irritant, 
harsh and denouncing manner, his face registered the 
greatest possible human kindness and the merry 
twinkle in his eye told the world we were friends 
again. 

"Well, Elmer, " he said, in a sharply pitched 
voice, which, however, carried deepest respect and 
utmost conviction, "we have never asked any one 
yet to do what we would not do ourselves. If you 
want to go on that mission, I'll go with you/' 

We hopped into Brereton's motor car and were 
off to the airdrome. Mathis called the squadron and 
instructed them to have the command plane in readi- 
ness. On the way to the airdrome the trip was 
marked by a prolonged silence. We were not par- 
ticularly fisty; at least, I was not, because I was be- 
ginning to realize the magnitude of our undertaking. 
It seemed to me that we were already making the 
flight. Just as a flyer keeps a cool and level head 
when actually engaged in a combat, even though at 
great odds, so, as we sped on, I did not feel any 
particular nervousness. It was not necessary to talk 
over the mission for Brereton knew as well as I what 
we were supposed to do, and the route we must take. 

Arriving at the airdrome we found the plane 
ready. Only a few officers were on the field and to 
these we said nothing more than the ordinary greet- 
ing between flyers when leaving on a mission. We 
climbed into our places. Brereton played with the 



90 LUCK ON THE WING 

throttle for a few moments, then he turned around 
and in the usual way preparatory to taking off he 
asked, "All clear, Elmer ?" I looked around to see 
if any other planes were in the air, whose landing 
might interfere with our taking off; seeing none, I 
answered as cheerfully as possible, "All O.K., Sir." 
But he did not take off; he allowed the motor to idle 
away. Suddenly he turned his head and in a tone 
that indicated profound sincerity, and at the same 
time extreme uncertainty, he said, "Elmer, we're a 
couple of boobs. We've got no business doing this 
job. If they do get us who in the devil is going 
to run this Air Service? Your darned hunch is all 
wrong this time." 

Here was a thought that had not entered my mind 
for we alone were familiar with every detail of the 
organization of the operations for the drive and our 
loss at that particular time would really have been 
felt. I personally felt it was too late then to change, 
but this was a question which I felt was up to the 
Chief himself to decide, so after thinking it over a 
moment I said, "Use your own judgment, Sir." 
He hesitated a few seconds, then shrugged his shoul- 
ders and turned loose, "Well, I guess Bill Mitchell 
can handle it all right, and as he made that flight 
the other day by himself, I guess we, together, can 
make this one." He pulled his goggles down over 
his eyes, hastily adjusted his helmet, motioned the 
mechanics to remove the blocks. 

"All clear, Elmer?" he questioned. 

"All clear, Sir," I replied. 



BRERETON'S FAMOUS FLIGHT 91 

He gave her the gun and we were off. We headed 
straight over Coulommiers, to La Ferte sous Jouarre, 
which was the headquarters of the 1st U. S. Army 
Corps, and followed the Marne on to Chateau- 
Thierry. We lost no time in climbing, but in a 
steady path like the crow flies we went directly over 
the lines. We were only nine hundred feet high and 
every feature on the ground seemed to stand out 
perfectly. Our course carried us straight north 
along the road from Chateau-Thierry to Roucourt; 
from here we branched off toward Fere-en-Tardenois, 
and from Fere-en-Tardenois we hovered along the 
road to Grandes Loges and St. Remy. Leaving St. 
Remy we clung to the road leading north and finally 
reached Soissons. Banking to the right we skimmed 
along the River Vesle, searching the roads on both 
banks to Misy-sur-Aisne. We followed the Vesle 
down to Braisne and Fismes. At Fismes we were 
thirty kilometers within the German lines, and had 
reached our farthest objective; it was now only nec- 
essary to get out without being caught. 

I cannot remember the exact route we took in 
getting out. I only remember that Brereton asked 
me at Fismes, which way home and I answered, 
1 * south with the wind/* I remember that we 
crossed the Marne again at Dormans and headed 
toward La Ferte to drop our message of information. 
In fact on the trip out I was not concerned with the 
route particularly — I knew that south meant home 
and we already had the information wanted, so, to 



92 



LUCK ON THE WING 



me, life and happiness meant home by the shortest 
possible ronte. 




ROUTE- COVEREOBY 
"BRZRETONS FAMOUS FLIGHT" 



In undertaking such a mission as this, that is, in 
being so far behind the lines without protection, I 
fully realized the utter futility of trying to concen- 



BRERETON'S FAMOUS FLIGHT 93 

trate my attention on the sky in search of enemy 
planes and at the same time do justice to the im- 
portance of the mission which would require prac- 
tically constant attention to the ground. I quite 
well know that if we were caught so far back we 
would have no possible chance to get away with our 
lives, so, in my mind, it was of no importance to 
watch the sky. My watching the heavens would not 
help us from being seen, but at the same time, as 
we were carried along, I was also carried off with 
a multitude and variety of thoughts. About the big- 
gest question I was attempting to solve was just how 
long I would last after a German patrol started after 
me. Then, I figured myself falling in flames. It is 
strange the many thoughts that will play upon one's 
mind in similar circumstances. The sudden pangs 
of regret that you ever left the airdrome and even 
more sincere sorrow that you ever got into the Air 
Service; the wondering what the boys in the Squad- 
ron are doing, and how the folks back home are, and 
whether you will ever see them again, and what the 
preacher in the village church will say at your 
memorial services and whether the Commander of 
the Army will write your mother a nice letter of 
condolence and whether the girl who jolted you will 
be sorry; and you wonder what you 1 would finally 
have turned out to be if you had not been killed, 
and other such trivial, little things; and the fact 
that you had wished you had burned all your let- 
ters before you left and a lot of little things you 
should have attended to before — for instance, on that 



94 LUCK ON THE WING 

flight I remembered that I was directed to call up the 
Corps Artillery Squadron and relieve them from two 
flights during that day. I brooded over the thought 
that if that Squadron went on with those flights and 
one of the flyers got killed how sorry I would be — 
how sorry I was that I had not attended to that 
before going out on this fool trip myself. 

I was certainly thankful that I had $10,000 worth 
of Government life insurance and was wondering 
how my mother would get along on $57.50 per month 
for twenty years, and I wished I had taken out 
$20,000 worth in private life insurance instead of 
spending two hundred dollars last month in Paris. 
All these more serious thoughts were going through 
my mind, having practically no one dependent upon 
me and with only the expendable rank of First Lieu- 
tenant upon my shoulders, and then I thought of 
poor, old Brereton with a wife and two children, 
and a Major's responsibility. Very shortly before 
this, Major Brown, in command of the 96th Squad- 
ron, had gotten lost in Germany and had landed 
with five other American planes and their crews, and 
this matter had occasioned unfavorable remarks as 
to his judgment. None of Brereton 's friends would 
ever be able to explain why, in his responsible posi- 
tion, he ever even started out on such a hazardous 
mission as this. 

Well, I came to the conclusion that one has two 
brains — one constructive and the other retrospective, 
for actually while I was thinking all of those things 
I was at the same time intently watching the ground 



BRERETON'S FAMOUS FLIGHT 95 

and carefully noting the location of all my infor- 
mation. 

That trip, from a standpoint of a war panorama, 
was a sight-seeing tour of wonder. Imagine the 
solid and continuous barrage of thousands and thou- 
sands of shells bursting in a line for miles and miles, 
the barking cannons on each side, like so many fero- 
cious dogs spitting fire, roads filled with on-march- 
ing troops, coming up in formation from both sides, 
walking as it were, into that veritable valley of death 
and destruction; the air filled with hostile planes 
and our whole safety depending upon the supposi- 
tion of being alone and so far behind the lines that 
the Germans would not realize the presence of an 
enemy plane. 

We must have seen between a total of seventy-five 
and one hundred German airplanes during the 
entire flight, for do not think that we kept our eyes 
glued to the ground all the time; at least I did not; 
and in one place we were so near a Boche airdrome 
that we saw the German planes on the field milling 
around about ready to buzz up after us. Yet even 
at such a low altitude we were only fired at once 
or twice by machine guns from the ground. At 
the front the machine guns were busy firing forward 
and in the rear there did not seem to be any avail- 
able. 

Our mission had been a long one and one of the 
few in which the crew can use their own judgment. 
So, when he circled over La Ferte, the Headquarters 
of the Corps, and dropped our message, we had not 



96 LUCK ON THE WING 

only stated the facts as we had seen them, but also 
our conclusions, taking the whole aspect as it pre- 
sented itself. 

When we got back to the field Brereton circled the 
field twice before he could land. He was consider- 
ably discomposed — personally, I was the living 
Wreck of the Hesperus. Brereton 's car was wait- 
ing and we rushed up to headquarters. The boys 
on the field were still ignorant as to where we had 
been and what we had done. Neither Brereton nor 
I said very much about the mission for we didn't 
know whether we would be condemned for under- 
taking it or congratulated upon its successful com- 
pletion. Of course, the line units around Corps 
Headquarters did not realize exactly the importance 
of such an undertaking, although I admit that Lieu- 
tenant Colonel Williams, whom we affectionately 
called "Houdini," and who was in charge of G-2 
Information Group, stated that night, at the nine 
o'clock conference, that it was good dope and who- 
ever got it, he certainly wanted to congratulate 
them. Brereton kept closed like a clam, while the 
position of my mouth was not unlike an oyster. 
However, when the French Air Service Commander, 
Commandant Gerard, heard of it, and he knew of it 
almost immediately, he came right over and offered 
his congratulations and was very profuse in his 
praise. Then we began to think we had really done 
something. The French told General Mitchell about 
it and he came right up to Headquarters and patted 
me on the back. Brereton was out, but when Gen- 



BRERETON'S FAMOUS FLIGHT 97 

eral Mitchell did that I knew we had done some- 
thing. 

In a very short time came the famous order of the 
great French officer who commanded our Army — 
General De Gouttes. It was as follows: 

SECRET 
Vlth Army 24 July 21h 50. 

TELEPHONE ORDER. 
The enemy is in retreat on all our front. I give 
the order to march without stopping in such a way 
as to lay hands upon the enemy, to accelerate his 
retreat and not to lose contact with him under any 
pretext. 

DE GOUTTES. 



136/G3 Headquarters 1st A. C. 

24 July 1918. 
Copy transmitted for your information and thor- 
ough compliance. 

By Command of Major General Liggett: 

MALIN CRAIG, 
Chief of Staff. 
Hq. First Army Corps 
Official 
Operations Section 

Afterwards, when we were around French Head- 
quarters we were always pointed out as "tres fort" 
and ' ' tres brave ' ' and were treated with a great deal 
of consideration by the French, for they considered 
the flight as about the greatest thing they had seen 
pulled off for some time, especially since the infor- 



98 LUCK ON THE WING 

mation had been accurate and had been of great as- 
sistance. In fact, they thought it was so good that 
they did not hesitate to decorate Brereton with the 
Legion of Honor and the Croix de Guerre. At that 
time I was only a Lieutenant so I was decorated with 
the Croix de Guerre and, as Brereton expressed it, 
as long as I was with him I was in the Region of 
Honor. However, I received stacks of approbation 
that I feared for a while would be condemnation, 
but those are the chances one takes in undertaking 
any flight which is revolutionary in the form of tac- 
tics or strategy. In fact, if we had been shot down 
on the mission and had been unsuccessful we would 
probably have been referred to, even at this late date, 
as the participants in " Brereton 's Famous Flight," 
only there would have been a different accent of in- 
sinuation on the word " Famous" than there now is 
in its common acceptance. 



TROUBLES ON THE GROUND 

HERB is a story dedicated to the boys who 
fought the war on the ground, the holders of 
the famous "Croix de Chair," who were commonly 
known as swivel chair artists, or "Waffle Seaters." 
I was engaged in this duty myself at times and I 
know what it means. It is the most exacting and 
yet least appreciated task of the war. We used to 
call these staff officers "Waffle Seaters" for the rea- 
son that they sat so long on cane bottomed chairs that 
the seats of their trousers were beginning to take 
on the impression of a waffle. 

There were troubles in the air and troubles on the 
ground. One of the reasons that made it extremely 
difficult to get a proper understanding between the 
units on the ground and the Air Service was that 
the ground units had never had an opportunity to 
work with the Air Service and they, therefore, could 
not understand the possibilities and the limitations 
of aviation. Neither the airman nor the ground sol- 
dier could be brought to realize that many of the 
troubles encountered were common to both. This 
lack of understanding and cooperation gradually 



100 LUCK ON THE WING 

was eliminated as the units became more experi- 
enced in working with each other. 

However, for a long time the airman could not 
possibly comprehend how the same faults that both- 
ered the flyer could also bother those on the ground. 
The contrary is also true — many on the ground 
thought the airman would not be bothered by the 
same elements that would hinder ground work. 

An incident illustrating this occurred between a 
couple of air officers, a Colonel who was in charge 
of American Balloons at the Front, and a Lieuten- 
ant, a Balloon Observer. This superior officer was 
a full-blooded German, born in Berlin. He spoke a 
German-American language that was mostly Ger- 
man. His name was Lieutenant Colonel John Paege- 
low. Paegelow was a Regular, and a regular fellow. 
We all liked him very much for he was very jovial 
and good natured. Anyway, his loyalty was unques- 
tionable for he was about the worst Hun-Hater among 
us. However, he had the Prussian idea of discipline 
and he took it out on the balloonatics whenever he 
felt they needed it. At Chateau-Thierry the balloons 
were under orders to remain in ascension day and 
night, and the personnel of the balloon companies 
had become noticeably fatigued from this prolonged 
vigilance ; the balloon observers, especially, were worn 
out and naturally cross and irritable. It was a rainy 
night and Paegelow was standing on the ground hold- 
ing the telephone in communication with the balloon 
observer two thousand feet above. This observer had 
been up for fourteen consecutive hours and was about 



TROUBLES ON THE GROUND 101 

all in, and the rain had made it a desolate and dis- 
agreeable night, adding considerable more woe to the 
occasion. 

" Colonel/ ' the young observer telephoned, in a 
very disgusted voice. 

"Vat?" alertly answered Paegelow, thinking the 
lad had spied something. 

"It's pitch dark up here, I can't see a damn thing 
and it's raining to beat Hell up here," spoke the 
observer. 

"Iss dot up dare all de trouble you got?" said 
Paegelow, indicating his overruling of the demurrer. 

"Well, what are you going to do about it?" de- 
manded the exasperated Lieutenant. 

Paegelow hesitated a second, then replied, "Veil, 
vill you shut up and go on and vork. It iss pitch dark 
down here, und I can't see a damn ting down here 
either, und it iss raining to beat 'ell down here too." 

When we started to work with new Infantry and 
Artillery units some were pleased and others did not 
want to have anything to do with us. It was at 
Chateau-Thierry that such lack of liaison became a 
serious matter and at the same time was the basis 
for several amusing incidents. The line units were 
prone to blame the Air Service for everything that 
went wrong. The reason was that they considered 
an airplane so experimental and uncertain in itself 
that that fact alone would preclude any argument as 
to the proper placing of blame for every failure. 

One of the hardest things we had to contend with 
was impressing upon the line units the fact that the 



102 LUCK ON THE WING 

Corps Observation and the Corps Air Service Com- 
mander had absolutely nothing to do with the Pursuit 
and Attack planes ; that all these came directly under 
the French Army Commander. 

Several times I answered the telephone to receive 
the scathing denunciation that "the Hun was over 
shooting up some of our Posts of Command and that 
none of our d — d airplanes had been seen in the air 
all day. ' ' Whereupon we tried to explain that we did 
not control the pursuit planes; that it should have 
been reported to the Army Headquarters and that 
we, of course, would report it immediately. The 
ground units considered this rather poor tactics and 
a very unsatisfactory answer, for to their minds all 
planes were offensive fighters. Had the line units real- 
ized the actual number of planes we had on the 
front and the area they were patrolling they might 
have realized why our planes were not seen oftener. 
We did not have them to be seen. 

One of the greatest difficulties we had was in teach- 
ing the doughboy to recognize the American insignia. 
Our publications were responsible for this, for every 
magazine published in the United States pictured the 
American airplane with a big star painted on its 
wings, while the insignia actually adopted was a 
cocarde — three circles of red, white and blue, within 
one another, the center circle being white, the British 
center circle being red, and the French center circle 
being blue. As a matter of fact, the star in the air, 
at a reasonably long distance, looks exactly like the 
German Maltese Cross. In fact, a French airman 



TROUBLES ON THE GROUND 103 

once remarked that if the American had gone into 
combat with that much advertised star and the Ger- 
mans failed to get him, a friendly airman, misjudging 
the star for a cross, certainly would have given a real 
battle. 

Our doughboys actually thought that the Ameri- 
can insignia was a huge star, for all the magazines 
had firmly implanted that on their minds. They 
didn't care about the insignia of any other nation 
outside of the American and German. To them one 
was a star and the other a cross, anything else was 
either friendly or enemy; and they would take a 
chance on it being enemy and fire at it. 

One day before the Chateau-Thierry drive I was 
flying low along the lines and from my map I was 
quite sure which was our own territory, and which 
was that occupied by the Germans. I was well in the 
edge of our own territory when I heard machine guns 
firing at me from the ground. My first thought was 
that the Germans had advanced, so I directed the 
pilot to dive down to investigate. As we dived the 
machine gunners became convinced that we were go- 
ing to fire upon them, so they turned loose upon us. 
As we flew on back, other gun crews having seen those 
machine guns firing at us, began firing too and 
although the pilot kept banking the plane up so that 
they might see our American cocarde, they kept on 
firing. About a half a kilometer back of the lines 
we began circling for altitude, and I kept hearing a 
few shots from a gun. Then, in a few seconds I saw 
a bullet go through the fuselage. Looking down on 



104 LUCK ON THE WING 

the edge of an old trench I saw about three lads with 
rifles firing at us, and they were good, old Yankee 
doughboys; I was sure of it. 

I felt like turning loose a burst of about fifty 
rounds, aiming close to this group in order to give 
them a real scare, then 1 realized that there might 
be other troops around who might be grazed by a 
stray bullet, so I marked the place very definitely on 
my map, flew back to the airdrome and landed. 

This was a serious matter, so I immediately made 
a trip up to the Front to find out about it. I trudged 
around the trenches for an hour before any plane 
came in sight, then one of our own airplanes came 
along, flying very low. Suddenly I heard a rifle firing 
close by. I immediately ran in the direction of the 
shooting and I discovered a half-grown kid sur- 
rounded by a couple of his companions, coolly taking 
pot shots at this American airplane. In a rage I 
jumped on him with all fours. 

"Don't you know that's an American plane?" I 
demanded in a manner neither affable nor pleasant. 
To my great surprise he responded that he knew it 
was an American plane. 

"Well," I continued, speaking even more severely, 
"what do you mean by firing on an American 
plane ? ' ' 

This doughboy casually continued chewing his to- 
bacco and looking at the ground for some reason, 
apparently not from lack of composure, for he would 
take an occasional spit at an old, rusty helmet about 
six feet up the trench. The presence of an officer 



TROUBLES ON THE GROUND 105 

bothered him about as much as the presence of a king 
affects a bolshevik. 

"Well," I again asked, "where do you get that 
noise of firing at a friendly plane?" 

This was just the opening he wanted, for he threw 
out his chest in all his independent dignity and said, 
" There ain't no friendly planes around here. I ain't 
seen any, no how. Them American planes ain't got 
no business being back this far from the lines and if 
them aviators ain't got nerve enough to go over there 
and scrap them Boche on their own ground, we'll 
force 'em over with our guns and put a little back- 
bone in 'em." 

Then the lad gave me a full explanation as to why 
they had fired upon these American planes and he 
claimed the American flyers always ran from the 
Boche; the Boche came over and shot up the dough- 
boys and he had never seen an American plane going 
over and shooting up the Boche. Then I asked him if 
he knew the functions of the airplanes. I wanted 
him to know that some planes had to stay behind the 
lines at times. 

"Yep," he said, "they're all fighters, all of 'em, or 
supposed to be, but they don't fight. They stay back 
here; they're scared to go over." 

Then I asked him if he had ever heard of an ob- 
servation plane and if an observation plane shot a 
signal of six rockets to him what he would do. He 
replied that he did not know anything about observa- 
tion planes and didn't want to know anything about 
them, but that several times large planes had flown 



106 LUCK ON THE WING 

back there and had fired fire rockets at the dough- 
boys. 

"How many rockets did they fire?" I asked. 

"Oh," he said, "lots of 'em. Sometimes three and 
six at one time." I knew six rockets was the official 
signal from an airplane to the infantry, and that they 
were supposed to put out white pieces of cloth, their 
panels, to tell the airplane exactly where they were. 

"Well, what did you do when the airplane fired six 
rockets at you?" I questioned in a more tolerating 
tone of voice. 

"What did I do?" he answered as if surprised at 
such a silly question. "What do you think I'd a 
done"? Why, I fired right back at 'em. There ain't 
nobody goin' to fire at me and get off with it with- 
out me firing back." 

The other buddies backed him up absolutely and I 
spent a half hour explaining to them the real facts 
about the airplane game. They finally came to my 
way of thinking on every point except the courage of 
the American airman. They could not be dissuaded; 
they were convinced that most American flyers were 
cowards and "yellow." 

I, of course, reported this firing on friendly air- 
planes to Headquarters and an order was issued so 
as to acquaint the Infantry with the Allied insignia. 
However, it was not until late in the Argonne offen- 
sive that this misapprehension of the doughboy was 
entirely cleared away. Time and time again when I 
would ask infantrymen, even officers, if they knew 
the American airplane insignia, they would say it 



TROUBLES ON THE GROUND 107 

was a "Star," but that they had never seen any 
American planes on the front. Perhaps it is for this 
reason that there are many doughboys who today de- 
clare they never saw an American airplane over the 
front. They undoubtedly saw many American planes, 
but they never saw any with the much-advertised star 
in the cocarde. 

We had a great lot of trouble with wireless equip- 
ment in our artillery adjustments. When anything 
went wrong it was always blamed on the radio at- 
tached to the airplanes and we, of course, always 
attributed the fault to the artillery station on the 
ground because our wireless sets were always tested 
from the air to our own squadron station before 
starting on any mission. If the radio was not work- 
ing, we always came down and fixed it. But this 
continual, unsatisfactory cooperation on radio com- 
munication was a serious affair all the way through 
and it was a bone of contention between the Air 
Service and the Artillery in many instances. 
Finally radio officers were appointed to inspect the 
equipment on the airplane and the equipment on the 
ground and to determine where the fault lay. This 
helped some, but the trouble was never actually over- 
come. If the trouble was with the airmen, it was 
perhaps due to failure to throw in their switch. An 
experience I had, led me to believe that the trouble 
was more with the personnel than the material. In 
each artillery regiment in trench warfare, there was 
one battery designated to fire upon a sudden call from 
the airplane. This battery was known as the fugitive 



108 LUCK ON THE WING 

target battery and the wireless crew was supposed to 
be constantly on duty from daybreak until nightfall 
so that when an airplane called, the designated bat- 
tery could be immediately notified and the adjust- 
ment of artillery fire undertaken at once. 

One day I decided to make a thorough reconnais- 
sance of the Front and to call the fugitive target 
battery to a certain regiment to make a rapid adjust- 
ment. I crossed the line, found my target, which was 
a small convoy on the road within a forest. I was 
well within range of the fugitive target battery, so I 
immediately began to call the wireless station of the 
battery. I called it for fully twenty-five minutes but 
I could get no response. They did not put out any 
panel at all. I happened to know the location of the 
wireless station in the next regiment, which was also 
supposed to be looking out for fugitive target calls, 
so I called them and they immediately displayed their 
panel that they understood me. I was then certain 
that my wireless was 0. K., so I flew back to my first 
battery and began to call them again. After another 
fifteen minutes I still received no response whatso- 
ever. As the target had long since disappeared and 
being without the range of the alert battery of the 
next regiment, I flew home. 

After making my report I called up the Colonel of 
the Regiment in which the battery was located. He, 
of course, being a very busy man, was not especially 
anxious to talk to a Lieutenant, so he transferred me 
to his wireless officer. I told the wireless officer that 
1 had called them for forty minutes and had gotten 



TROUBLES ON THE GROUND 109 

absolutely no response and that I was sure that my 
wireless was all right. He, in a very nice way, re- 
sponded that he was quite sure that my wireless was 
not all right, because he was certain that the bat- 
talion concerned had their wireless in very good 
shape. We got into quite an argument in which I 
told him that I called the designated battery of the 
next regiment and that they had answered and that 
I called my home station both on leaving and return- 
ing and that they answered, but the Captain re- 
peated that he didn't give a continental how many 
answered, he still knew his wireless stations were all 
right and he didn't want any argument over the tele- 
phone about it. Whereupon I mentally cussed the 
whole Army, but merely said, "Yes, Sir," and 
hung up. 

I immediately dispatched another plane to call the 
same battery and to keep on calling them until they 
answered. Then I got into the car and drove up to 
the battalion concerned. I paid my respects to the 
Major commanding the battalion and told him the 
trouble — that we had called and had received no re- 
sponse. He was sort of peeved at the whole world so 
he said he was getting disgustingly tired of these air- 
planes hollering about the Artillery's wireless; that 
his wireless was all right and it was the inefficient 
airplanes; that his wireless men were on duty and 
had been from daybreak until night. I told him I 
would like to go over, if I might, and look over his 
wireless station. He became very indignant and said, 
1 ' Lieutenant, that is quite an unnecessary request. I 



110 LUCK ON THE WING 

know the efficient condition of my units and I know 
my wireless is listening now and I know that they 
have been listening in all day." 

I was beginning to become accustomed to these 
rebuffs by this time so I smoothed it over the best 
I could and finally he agreed to take the time to 
walk over to the wireless station with me. The plane 
I had dispatched ahead was circling above and I 
knew he was calling. We went to the wireless station, 
which was a sort of improvised one down in a dug- 
out. The place was deserted and there was not a 
person in sight. The Major was sore, but apologetic. 
He remembered that Battery C was supposed to fur- 
nish the detail and that they were supposed to be on 
the job permanently. So we went over and found 
the Captain of Battery C and the Battalion Signal 
Officer, a Second Lieutenant, who were busily en- 
gaged in a poker game. The Major, in a terrible 
voice, demanded, " Where in 'ell are those radio oper- 
ators !" The poor Lieutenant meekly gave the only 
answer he could think of. "Why, Major," he said, 
"they are right over there at the station; they have 
been there all day." 

The Major calmly asked, "Lieutenant, have you 
inspected the radio unit to-day?" 

Whereupon the Lieutenant solemnly said, "No, Sir, 
I have not inspected it, but I am positive that the 
operators are right on the job," and he described 
definitely the place from which we had just come. 

We asked him the name of his radio operators. 
They were all privates. With the Captain and the 



TROUBLES ON THE GROUND 111 

Radio Officer we went over to the radio station. It 
was still deserted. The Major began to tell the Lieu- 
tenant in language that will not permit of repetition 
just what he thought of him. The Lieutenant was 
speechless, and out of sympathy for him I made the 
suggestion that there was an airplane above which 
was probably calling them now and that it might be 
a good idea if we could get some one there at the 
station to listen in. The Radio Officer grasped the op- 
portunity, jumped down and put the clickers to his 
ears, and the first thing he said was, "Q-P-R, Q-P-R 
— that's our call!" I felt like a million dollars, for 
this time the Artillery was forced to concede that 
it was not the fault of the airplane. With the assist- 
ance of the Major and the Captain we manipulated 
the panels while the wireless officer took the calls and 
the lad in the airplane did the adjustment. Then we 
went back to find out where the radio operators were ; 
that is, the three privates. 

The Captain dispatched an orderly to find the first 
sergeant. In about five minutes the sergeant was 
located and made his appearance. He was an old 
non-commissioned officer and was seasoned by expe- 
rience in many climes and in dealing with many 
classes of men. He was rather heavy, and had not 
shaved for several days, which fact, in addition to 
his heavy, disheveled mustache, gave him the ap- 
pearance of a hardboiled bulldog. 

"Sergeant," began the Captain, "do you know 
where the radio operators are?" 

"Yes, sir," grumbled the top soak, affirmatively 



112 LUCK ON THE WING 

nodding his head with self-satisfaction that he quite 
well knew where they were. 

"Well," went on the Captain, "I want to see them 
at once. If you will show me their quarters it will 
save time." 

"They ain't in their quarters," came the reply. 
"They're in the kitchen." 

We went to the kitchen and found the three ex- 
pert radio operators — two were scrubbing big, black 
pans and the third was peeling spuds. 

For moral effect, the Captain called the Top Ser- 
geant off to one side. The rest of us had to laugh. 

"Why have you got these men in the kitchen?" 
hotly demanded the Captain. 

"Well, Sir," replied the Sergeant, closing in his 
jaws firmly in determination, "there ain't no more 
reason why the rest of the battery should do K. P. 
and excuse the wireless men. I heard one of 'em say 
yesterday that he ain't never done no K. P. since 
he'd been in this man's army, and that kind er talk 
is bad for the morale of the battery, so I just stuck 
'em all on fer a few days to show the fellers they 
ain't no favors played in this battery." 

"Yes, but what about the radio?" asked the Cap- 
tain. "You should have left one of them on the 
job." 

"Oh, well, Captain," came back the "Top" Ser- 
geant, "it ain't goin' to make no difference; these 
airplanes don't call the station more than once every 
two or three days and we ain't got enough men to 



TROUBLES ON THE GROUND 113 

waste on sitting around awaiting for 'em to call and 
they don't do nothing for us when they do call.' , 

Thus I found one of the main reasons for this early 
lack of results. These old timers did not take the Air 
Service seriously. They had no faith in its present 
capabilities nor its future development. To them an 
Army was composed of Infantry, Cavalry and Ar- 
tillery. Every other arm or service was experi- 
mental. I am glad to say, however, that later this 
battery, in fact the entire regiment of Artillery, be^ 
came very proficient in the work with the Air Service 
and the results were, indeed, satisfactory to all. 

In the actual advance at Chateau-Thierry the 
ground liaison — that is, the communication by tele- 
phone, wireless telegraph and ground telegraph be- 
tween the line units and the Air Service — became 
poorer and poorer as the troops advanced until it 
was really in a deplorable state. The area over which 
troops passed was all shell torn and it was impossi- 
ble to move our flying fields farther up because we 
could not cease operations in order to make the move 
since we had no reserve Air units, and worse, we had 
no fields prepared and the Germans had destroyed 
theirs in the retreat. 

As the days advanced conditions became more ter- 
rible. The entire corps headquarters had only one 
telephone wire and one ground telegraph line to the 
Corps Advance Headquarters and from there only 
one out to the various Divisional Posts of Command 
and in front of those Posts of Command almost 



114 LUCK ON THE WING 

everything was done by runners. Our little force at 
the Corps Air Service Headquarters was all worked 
down. After the first few days the drive ceased to 
be exciting and it became purely drudgery and habit. 
We were all irritable and cross. We were over- 
worked and loss of sleep was showing very much in 
our dispositions. This particular day things were 
getting pretty bad up the line. The German artillery 
was making a strong defense and all of our Command 
Posts were getting their full share of German artil- 
lery fire. At noon our radio operator told me that 
some one had been trying all morning to put through 
a message to us, but that we had been unable to re- 
ceive it. Either the transmitting set at the line was 
not working or our receiving set was not. At any 
rate, something was urgently wrong somewhere at the 
front or they would not have been so persistent. 
About nine-thirty they started trying to call us and 
they kept on until eleven-thirty, but the operator 
could not get anything definite out of the sound. In 
addition, at about a quarter of twelve they suc- 
ceeded in getting a telephone call through, but we 
could not hear. We tried to relay it, but that did not 
work. We worked an hour on that — until a quarter 
of one. Then they managed to get a priority call 
through on the ground telegraph, which telegram 
was dated at the Post of Command at one-thirty in 
the afternoon and was delivered to me at one-forty. 
The telegram read as follows: 



TROUBLES ON THE GROUND 115 

"To Chief of Air Service. First Army Corps. 

German artillery firing on my Post of Command. 
Stop it! 



General. ' ' 

Of course, we all had a real laugh at the situa- 
tion ; that is, Mathis and I, for we were the only ones 
there, Brereton being away on business and Har- 
wood being up at the front on liaison. Of course, 
such a request was obviously impossible. An air- 
plane can spot certain batteries when firing, but when 
there are fifteen hundred different guns firing con- 
tinuously on fifteen hundred different objectives one 
can imagine what possibility an airplane would have 
of picking out the particular battery that was firing 
on this particular post of command. At the same 
time, as it was signed in code by a General, it was 
imperative that something be done because that unit 
had not been any too friendly toward the Air Ser- 
vice, and, of course, the wishes of a General must 
always have immediate attention. 

I knew there was no answer that I could send back 
over the wire that would quiet the situation, so we 
simply acknowledged the receipt of the message. At 
the same time I knew there was no use to send a 
special airplane for this request because we already 
maintained a plane over the front every hour of the 
day, the one duty of which was to report by wireless 
the location of any enemy batteries seen firing. I 
was mighty busy on a multitude of other things, but 
still the General must be answered, so I finally de- 



116 LUCK ON THE WING 

eided the best thing to do was to go up to the Post 
of Command and explain the entire situation, tell- 
ing why it could not be done. After an hour and a 
half rough riding we finally approached the Post of 
Command concerned. I left the car about a quarter 
of a mile away so as to not attract the attention of 
the German airplanes to the presence of a Command 
Post. All the way up I had been considering just 
what I would say, because, being a Lieutenant, I 
wouldn't have much chance with a General, and yet 
I felt that since I had to do it I ought to have some- 
thing worth saying. I had decided upon my whole 
speech — I would simply say that the mission was not 
only impossible but such a request was preposterous 
— an airplane was a great thing, but it had a limit 
of activity. At the same time I was in great fear of 
being laughed at and being balled out, because in a 
great many cases a Lieutenant speaking with a Gen- 
eral, with the slight difference in rank, is at a dis- 
advantage. I knew I had to make some sort of a stab 
so, though I was determined on my speech, I really 
felt very much like a bashful school boy. As to pro- 
cedure I had it all fixed up that I would go in, click 
my heels together, salute smartly and explain to the 
General that I was the Operations Officer for the 
Corps Air Service, whereupon I thought he would 
certainly have some deference for me on account of 
the important position I was holding with such low 
rank. My greatest hope was that he would be rea- 
sonable and would take my statement regarding the 
situation as final and authoritative, without further 



TROUBLES ON THE GROUND 117 

argument. I concluded that the best way would be 
to impress him with the knowledge I had on the par- 
ticular subject and not give him a chance to come 
back. To do this I must be absolutely firm and con- 
vincing in what I had to say, but at the same time, 
way down deep in my heart I felt it was a hopeless 
task, for these " higher ups" are inclined to con- 
sider nothing but results — and since we could not 
give him the results he wanted, he would conclude 
that the Air Service had failed, and as the line units 
had done on several other similar occasions, they 
would merely remark, "the same old story,' ' shrug 
their shoulders and pass it up. I, of course, ex- 
pected to find the General down in his dug-out, be- 
ing heavily shelled, but I was determined to show 
him that I was a real hero by walking right through 
the shell-fire and calmly explaining to him why we 
couldn't help him. This last decision really required 
nerve on my part, for if there is any one thing I 
cannot stand, it is shell-fire on the ground. It did not 
worry me so much in the air, for there seemed to be 
such a good chance to dodge, but on the ground — 
well, I had been caught in it several times and, in 
each instance, I made the necessary distance to safety 
in considerable less than record time on the fastest 
tracks. 

I picked up a stray doughboy to guide me to the 
Post of Command. To my absolute surprise I found 
that everything was apparently quiet. However, 
the surroundings bore the unmistakable evidence that 
the region had undergone a very heavy and pro- 



118 LUCK ON THE WING 

longed bombardment. I could not understand this; 
in fact, I was certain that we had come to the wrong 
Post of Command. 

" Orderly,' ' I said to a lad standing at the door, 
"is this the P. C. of General Blank ?" using the 
proper code name. 

"That's right, Sir," he smartly answered. 

"When did the bombardment stop?' 7 I demanded. 

"About two o'clock, Sir," he replied. 

"May I see the General?" I asked. 

"What is the name, Sir?" 

"Just tell the General or Chief of Staff that Lieu- 
tenant Haslett of the Air Service would like to see 
either of them at their convenience. There is nothing 
urgent." 

The orderly stepped inside and almost immediately 
a Lieutenant came out. 

"I'm the General's aide," he said, extending his 
hand. "The General will see you at once. Come 
right in." 

The door opened and I was ready with my speech. 
Out rushed the General and his Chief of Staff and 
the rest of his staff around him — none of them less 
in rank than a Lieutenant Colonel. Of course, I 
stood at attention, stiff as an iceberg, but they 
thawed me out by a cordial "Are you Haslett, the 
Operations Officer of the Air Service?" 

I had never before in my life spoken to such a 
high ranking General and in a quivering, quick voice 
which indicated that I expected to be crucified at the 
next moment I said, "Yes, Sir." The .General ad- 



TROUBLES ON THE GROUND 119 

vanced, put out his hand and said, "Lieutenant, I 
want to congratulate you. That is the first time we 
have ever had efficient service and cooperation from 
your airplane crowd. All morning while we tried to 
get you by wireless and we knew we had not suc- 
ceeded, for you did not answer — they were firing 
upon us terribly ; and then we tried to get you on the 
telephone, but I think the bursting shells around us 
was one of the reasons you could not hear ; but when 
we got that telegram through at one-thirty and you 
acknowledged receiving it at a quarter of two — it was 
simply fine. We saw an airplane circle overhead 
promptly at two o'clock and that artillery stopped 
firing at exactly five minutes after two. Now that's 
what I call splendid work, and I am going to tell the 
Corps Commander about it." 

For the moment I was completely nonplussed. 
There was nothing for me to say. I had a vision of 
a young hero with a Distinguished Service Cross and 
twenty-six and a half Croix de Guerre — I might not 
have been the Ace of Aces, but I certainly was the 
Deuce of Deuces. After a moment's hesitation I 
knew it was the time to act, so I shrugged my shoul- 
ders, casually lighted a cigarette and nonchalantly in- 
formed the General that I came to see that the air- 
plane had satisfactorily completed its mission and to 
assure myself that he was satisfied and to tell him 
that any time he had any trouble we wanted him to 
feel that the Air Service was behind him, day and 
night ; that if they only got the word to us, we would 
do our best. 



120 LUCK ON THE WING 

Believe me, every one of the staff, from the Lieu- 
tenant Colonels up, shook my hand and individually 
thanked me for the efficient work we had done in 
stopping that artillery fire. This was the real case 
of having fortune thrust upon one. Perhaps I should 
have insisted upon explaining that we had nothing to 
do with stopping that artillery fire, but somehow I 
could not. It was a dream which was better undis- 
turbed, for the German Heavy Artillery had cer- 
tainly stopped of its own volition, not ours. 

Forever afterwards that General and his entire 
staff were strong boosters for the Air Service, and 
when any one had anything to say against the Air 
Service, if there was a member of that staff around 
an argument was certain ; and the General, I am told, 
still tells of how the wonderful American Air Ser- 
vice stopped the German Heavy Artillery on fifteen 
minutes' notice at Chateau -Thierry. 



VI 

THE WILD RIDE OF A GREENHORN 

ONE of the greatest experiences an observer can 
have is to take a new pilot over the lines for 
his first trip; in other words, "break him in." I had 
sort of specialized in this work in the early days in 
quiet sectors, but when I was sent up to the Argonne 
sector it was for an entirely different mission. I had 
long since gotten past this preliminary stage. The 
object of my being there was to carry on adjust- 
ments of artillery on the moving enemy targets, for 
I had been giving a great deal of attention to this 
special work all through our experiences at Chateau- 
Thierry and Saint Mihiel. At the opening of the 
Argonne drive on the 26th of September my position 
was that of Operations Officer for the Corps Obser- 
vation Wing of the First Army. It seemed that the 
development of artillery adjustments on fugitive tar- 
gets had sort of been overlooked, so General Mitchell, 
who was then Chief of Air Service of the First 
Army, began to realize the importance of this work 
and decided that it should be given more attention. 
Of course, it was strictly a Corps Observation mis- 
sion, and so he passed the order down to Brereton 

121 



122 LUCK ON THE WING 

and Brereton, of course, passed the ' ' buck ' ' on to me, 
for the buck never passes up — it's always down. 

It was an important matter, especially for the 
coming drive, and no satisfactory method of carry- 
ing on this work had yet been worked out, so I pro- 
posed to Brereton that I be authorized to visit each 
of the Corps of the First Army during the drive in 
order to carry on this work ; then I could compile the 
proper manual for future guidance of our observers. 
The big three, consisting of General Mitchell, Colonel 
Milling and Major Brereton, all approved, and so I 
went first to the 5th Corps, whose airdrome was at 
Foucoucourt, arriving there on September 25th, about 
six o'clock in the evening. The big Argonne-Meuse 
drive was to begin the next morning at daybreak. 

The Corps Air Service Commander, Colonel Arthur 
Christie, and the Group Commander, Major Joe Mc- 
Narney, and I had a talk about the entire situation. 
They decided that I should work with the Hybrid 
Squadron, which consisted of a Flight of the 104th 
Squadron and a Flight of the 99th Squadron under 
the command of Lieutenant Jeff Davis. The Opera- 
tions Officer was Lieutenant Britton Polly, whom I 
knew quite well in the Observers' School, so I told 
Davis that I would like to take one of the first mis- 
sions the next morning, in order that I might get an 
early start on my fugitive target ideas. 

Polly told me the situation — they were up against 
it, as they had several new pilots who had never been 
over the front, so he wanted to know if I would help 
him out by taking one of the new ones over. Ordi- 



THE WILD EIDE OF A GREENHORN 123 

narily there is not much opportunity to do real work 
when "breaking in" a green pilot, and although I 
knew this would detract from my chances for suc- 
cess, I agreed. 

That night I worked quite late preparing a very 
complete chart, showing the location of all our bat- 
teries on the map, their radio call codes and a minia- 
ture picture of each battery's panels. I knew that 
the batteries would soon be on the move, and my 
scheme of adjustment had for its object the ability to 
call any battery which had halted temporarily, 
whether its location was permanent or not. 

I got on the field about eight o'clock the next 
morning and walked over to the Operations Room 
of the 104th Squadron to find my pilot, who, for the 
purposes of this story, we will call "Lieutenant 
Greenhorn." Inside the hut I found a tall, slender, 
effeminate looking chap talking to Britton Polly. I 
was unnoticed by either. The lad was inquiring as 
to this new guy, Haslett, who was supposed to fly 
with him at nine o 'clock. I heard him tell Polly that 
as it was his first trip over the lines he demanded 
an old and experienced observer to take him over. 
Since he didn 't know me, he said, and had never seen 
me, he would rather have one of his own squadron go 
over with him, as he would have more confidence in 
some one whose experience he knew. Polly, who was 
a sort of hardb oiled war horse, told him that he 
wouldn't find any observers in the American Service 
who were more experienced than Haslett and that he 
had better take me while the taking was good. 



124 LUCK ON THE WING 

After ' ' Greenhorn ' ' left I had a good laugh over 
the matter with Polly and then I followed the lad to 
his room, went in, and disclosed my identity. He 
was noticeably nervous and made me a confession 
that he had had very little flying and that he really 
had no business being at the Front ; and, as this was 
his first trip over, he didn't want to stay long and 
wanted to know how it felt to be up there, and what 
to do when he was attacked, and what to do when 
the enemy anti-aircraft artillery shot him, what to 
do if his motor failed him over the lines, and a lot of 
such odd and foolish questions. My experience with 
Phil Schnurr on his first flight made me leary. I 
didn't object to taking a man over the lines for the 
first time so long as he knew how to fly well, but when 
a man did not even have confidence in his ability to 
fly — well, it was a very different matter. I was not 
seeking any thrills — observing had become a business 
with me, so I felt very much like refusing to fly with 
him, but on afterthought it came to me that perhaps 
this lad was not such a bad sort after all and maybe 
it was just his modesty and timidity that caused him 
to talk so disparagingly of his ability. At any rate, 
if he was going over, for his own good I would take 
a chance and try to start him right. 

I proceeded with a story something like this (the 
same that I told all the new pilots I ever took over 
the lines for their first trip) : 

"The pilot in an observation plane is, in one sense, 
the chauffeur. On account of the fact that communi- 
cation between the pilot and the observer is ordi- 



THE WILD RIDE OF A GREENHORN 125 

narily very poor, we refer to the pilot as the horse, 
for he must be guided, and for that reason we append 
to his arms directly under the armpits two pieces of 
twine, string or cord which we extend back to the 
observer. The observer holds the reins. The ob- 
server is given the mission to perform and, while he 
expects the utmost voluntary cooperation of the 
pilot, when it comes to any matter of tactical decision 
the observer's word is final; for instance, in this 
flight, should we see five planes and decide to attack 
them, I would simply give the word and you would 
direct the plane toward them; or if we are attacked 
by them I would give the word whether to dive 
toward the ground and run from the enemy or stay 
and fight it out; or should I see a machine gun nest 
on the ground which was holding up our advancing 
troops, should I decide to go down and destroy that 
machine gun nest it is your duty to direct your plane 
down on the machine gun nest even though you know 
it is certain death. The observer points out the direc- 
tion in which he wants to go, how long he wants to 
stay there, how long he wants to stay at the line, 
and, in fact, is the commander of the plane. As I 
said before, he is the holder of the reins. 

"Now, there is only one exception to this, and that 
is when something is mechanically wrong with the 
airplane. For instance, if the engine is failing or if 
a strut is broken, or if flying wires are destroyed — 
in such a case the pilot becomes responsible for the 
command of the plane. The fear of failing to hear 
clearly the directions given by the observer through 



126 LUCK ON THE WING 

the speaking tube is the reason we have the lines to 
guide the pilot like a horse, and when the observer 
wants to go up he points up and when he wants to 
go down he points down; and should he want to go 
to a certain place he would point to that place. It 
is a sort of mental telepathy which is expressed in a 
sign language and is ordinarily easily understood, so 
don't worry — just pay close attention and don't lose 
your head and you will get along all right, for after 
all, flying over the front is not so full of thrills as 
one ordinarily is led to believe, and whether you live 
over your allotted twenty hours over the lines de- 
pends largely upon your ability and good luck and 
watchfulness. ' ' 

"Greenhorn" took it all in and said he understood 
fully. After quite a little delay in getting a ser- 
viceable airplane we finally made a stab at getting off. 
I told Greenhorn to take me to a little town called 
Avocourt, which was in No-Man 's-Land, and I care- 
fully pointed it out to him on the map. Of course, 
Avocourt had been destroyed by shell fire and noth-. 
ing remained but the ruins of the town, but they 
were plainly discernible from the air. I tested out 
my wireless and everything was 0. K., so I motioned 
for him to head on up to the lines. I paid very little 
attention to the ground, intending to sort of take it 
easy until we got to Avocourt, thus getting a general 
idea of the lay of the country over which we were 
flying. I instructed him to let me know by shaking the 
plane when he came to Avocourt. He seemed to be 
flying along in good shape so I didn't concern myself 



THE WILD RIDE OF A GREENHORN 127 

with our location until he finally shook the plane. He 
pointed down to an extremely large city and motioned 
his lips ' ' Avocourt. ' ' I looked down below me and rec- 
ognized very well the historic city of Verdun, as I had 
flown over this sector one time with the French in 
the early days. I shook my head and pointed toward 
Avocourt. "Greenhorn" had missed Avocourt only 
by about fifteen kilometers. However, the kid was 
insistent and nodded his head in affirmation of his 
own decision and he pointed to his map again and 
pointed down and said " Avocourt.' ' I swelled out 
my chest and pointed to myself to impress upon him 
the lesson that I was running the plane as per our 
previous conversation and that he was to go in the 
direction pointed without further argument. He 
hastily acquiesced and turned the plane in that di- 
rection, and from that time on I used the cords at- 
tached to his arms to guide him. When we got over 
Avocourt I attracted his attention, pointed down and 
said " Avocourt. " He gazed down at the shattered 
ruins of what was once a town, but said nothing. 
However, his eyes and face expressed very well the 
fact that he would never have recognized Avocourt 
from her photograph. I couldn't blame him, for 
from the air a ruined town is highly deceptive and 
unless one had flown over that sector he could not 
realize that the effect of artillery destruction could 
be so complete. In a moment he gave some sort of a 
shrug of his shoulders to indicate that he was en- 
tirely lost, so I signaled to him and gave him his 
directions. Then, taking my map, I pointed north 



128 LUCK ON THE WING 

and said ' ' Montf aucon, ' ' which is easily distin- 
guished from the air for miles, being situated on the 
crest of a very high hill. ' ' Greenhorn ' ' immediately 
headed toward Montfaucon, thinking that perhaps I 
had pointed toward that town with the intention of 
going there. I did not have this in mind, but since 
one place was just about as good as another until we 
found a target I let him go. 

Just over Montfaucon we were opened up on by 
the German anti-aircraft artillery. I heard a heavy 
thud under our tail and at once the plane began to 
side-slip and quiver. The " Greenhorn ' ' was badly 
frightened and began looking in every direction. 
Then his eyes fell on me and I have never seen the 
equal of the expression on his face when he saw me 
laughing. He did not realize the significance until 
I pointed to the anti-aircraft bursts, which were fully 
three hundred yards behind us. I assured him that 
everything was 0. K. and he had done well. That 
put him a little more at ease. After a while I spied 
a splendid target, so I started him back toward the 
line so that we could call our batteries. We then 
played over our own lines for about an hour, as we 
were having a great deal of trouble in getting any 
batteries to answer, since they had all started to move 
up farther to support the fast advancing doughboys. 
I didn't know whether " Greenhorn' ' appreciated 
that ride or not, but believe me, that sight was beau- 
tiful. The heretofore impassable region known as 
No-Man 's-Land was now converted to B very-Man 's- 
Land, for the whole shell riddled section was sim- 





* I 



o 



'7, 



''--ft] 






THE WILD RIDE OF A GREENHORN 129 

ply covered with the advancing American doughboys 
— in trenches, shell holes, everywhere. The mighty 
tanks were slowly plugging and lumbering along 
over the shell holes and we could easily see our most 
advanced lines, the troops deploying, the German 
machine gun crews at their nests vainly attempting 
to hold back the advancing infantry, and farther 
back we could see the retreating Germans, their sup- 
ply trains, artillery and convoys. I marked down the 
location of our advance units, as this was important 
information, and told " Greenhorn ' ' to fly north. As 
we circled over Montfaucon to the west we drew a 
very heavy machine gun fire from the Bois de Beuges, 
which had put several holes in the plane, and since 
"Greenhorn" was getting more and more unsteady 
in his flying I thought it well for our own safety and 
comfort to get a little better altitude, so I motioned 
up and "Greenhorn" started a steep climb right off 
the bat. Of course, I did not intend for him to make 
such a steep climb, and as we started our ascent the 
machine practically stood still in the air in a stalL 
This gave the German machine gunners a chance to 
concentrate on us, and believe me, they certainly 
made the best of their opportunity. Fortunately, be- 
ginner's luck was with the boy and we got out of it 
after he finally heeded my frantic effort to get him to 
fly ahead for speed and not for altitude. I looked 
the plane over carefully when we were without the 
range of the German machine guns. Other than a 
few holes in the wings and the body of the plane I 
could find nothing wrong with it; at least, all the 



130 LUCK ON THE WING 

flying wires and struts were still good and the en- 
gine apparently was running perfectly. Upon get- 
ting more altitude, however, the " Greenhorn ' ' started 
in the direction of home without any orders from me 
at all. 

Suddenly I heard a faint, indistinct put-put-put 
and I began scouring the sky for the place from 
whence came the familiar and unmistakable sound. 
Away over to the right, north of Montfaucon, I saw 
a genuine scrap going on. There must have been 
fifteen planes and soon the faint put-put became a 
continuous rattle like the roll of an over-tight snare 
drum. I could very easily tell by their maneuvering 
that it was a dog fight and if we could only get over 
there in time we would undoubtedly get into it. 
Maybe some of our boys needed help and sometimes 
the arrival of one additional plane can turn the bal- 
ance of power in a scrap. So I shook the plane and 
called to him to head over that way as fast as he 
could. I expected some slight coercion would be 
necessary, but to my surprise " Greenhorn ' ' imme- 
diately headed toward the show. As we were speed- 
ing along like the assisting ambulance I decided to 
try out my guns to make sure they were in trim con- 
dition for a combat, so I pulled the triggers on both 
machine guns for a short burst, not thinking to warn 
the already irritated "Greenhorn." Instantaneous 
with the first report the plane began to go into a wild 
spiral. I dropped the guns and turned around to 
see " Greenhorn ' ' twisting in every conceivable di- 
rection and manipulating the joy stick right to left, 



THE WILD RIDE OF A GREENHORN 131 

forward to rear, with the same cadence that the jazz 
orchestra leader handles his baton — while I was 
thrown around in the cockpit like the contents of a 
shaking highball. I had a similar trick played on me 
myself one time while flying with Brereton at San 
Mihiel. Brereton and I were alone on a mission pho- 
tographing a difficult area behind the lines. Brere- 
ton, who was always a cautious flyer, ordinarily had 
a small mirror attached just above the edge of his 
cockpit in which my every movement was reflected. 
Thus he could tell when I was looking the sky over 
for enemy planes or watching the artillery or down 
in the pit operating the camera. I used to stay 
down in the cockpit too long at one stretch to suit 
him. His idea was that the observer should spend 
most of the time searching the sky in order that the 
Hun could not pull a surprise attack. In this he was 
right, but it was extremely difficult to do this and at 
the same time do the mission well. Brereton had pre- 
viously been accustomed to getting me out of the 
cockpit by shaking the plane, which merely consisted 
of gently vibrating the control lever from right to 
left. This day I was trying to get some very good 
photographs and I admit in so attempting I was stay- 
ing down in the cockpit too long. Brereton shook 
the machine several times, but I didn't come out be- 
cause I wanted to finish my set of pictures, taking 
my chances on an attack in the meantime. Brereton 
was unusually irritable so he decided that I did not 
have the right way of doing things. He immediately 
turned loose his machine guns for a continuous burst 



132 LUCK ON THE WING 

of about twenty-five rounds, which sounded to me like 
two hundred and twenty-five. Believe me, I came 
out of that cockpit. I grabbed my machine guns and 
swung the tourrelle upon which the guns were 
mounted full around several times, up and down, 
under my tail ; in fact, in every conceivable direction, 
for I was absolutely convinced that we were in a real 
scrap. Finally I got a glimpse of Brereton's beam- 
ing countenance. He was in a perfect uproar of 
laughter. The incident had its intended effect, for 
always afterward when Brereton would shake the 
plane, no matter how slightly, I would come out of 
the cockpit right off, just as the ground squirrel 
comes out of his hole when you give him sufficient 
water, but with an uncomparable difference in ra- 
pidity. 

So when I fired my guns poor "Greenhorn" was 
pitifully fussed. I could see he was losing his nerve, 
but I pointed in the direction of the fight and, obedi- 
ent to my instructions, he headed the plane that 
way. It would never have done to have withdrawn 
after getting this far, for in so doing he would never 
again have been worth anything in the air. 

We were still quite a distance from the show. I 
was looking over the top wing to get a line on the 
fight. They were still at it and it was just getting 
good. It seemed to be the ordinary aerial dog fight 
in which one allied plane is on the tail of the enemy 
plane and two of the enemy planes are on the allies ' 
tails, and three of the allies on the tails of the two 
enemies, and so on — all going round and round, ex- 



THE WILD RIDE OF A GREENHORN 133 

actly like a dog chasing its own tail. Suddenly one 
of the planes dropped from the combat and, making 
a steep dive, it burst into flames and fell toward 
earth. I shook the plane violently and, pointing 
toward the falling plane, I joyously cried to the 
11 Greenhorn, ' ' "Boche! Boche!" He was not so en- 
thusiastic as might have been expected and I had no 
more than gotten the words out of my mouth when 
another plane started falling — also out of control. 
At this point "Greenhorn" again suddenly headed 
his plane toward home. In a rage I shook the plane 
violently and with fury in my face I again pointed 
toward the fight. He shook his head. I became more 
infuriated and again pointed toward the fight, but 
the "Greenhorn" just as furiously shook his head 
and determinedly kept on going toward home. 

This would never do — I would feel like a coward 
the rest of my life, so I reached over the cockpit and 
grabbed him by the shoulders and very affirmatively 
pointed toward the fight. He motioned for me to put 
on my speaking tube, and amid the pounding of the 
motor, in his high, squeaky, girlish voice I could 
hear him uttering something about "Motor bad. Me- 
chanical trouble." It did not sound that way to 
me, so I doubtfully shook my head. He vigorously 
affirmed his statement, showing surprise that I should 
doubt his word or question his decision on mechani- 
cal matters. For the purpose of camouflage the 
plane kept rocking from side to side and the motor 
would become very strong and then suddenly die 
away. It was my belief that it was being controlled 



134 LUCK ON THE WING 

from the throttle. There was nothing I could do. 
I was not only disgusted with the ' ' Greenhorn, ' ' but 
I was thoroughly ashamed of myself. I felt like a 
sneaking coward. 

As we crossed the lines our anti-aircraft artillery 
suddenly began to fire violently and rapidly into the 
heavens. Then I picked up a lone enemy plane 
swiftly diving out of the clouds in order to attack 
our balloons. Here was our opportunity — I knew 
for a fact that a plane attacking balloons has not 
much chance to see any other plane approaching, so 
I shouted at the top of my voice, "See that plane 
there/ ' and I pointed to it. "That is a Boche that's 
going to attack this first balloon. Then it's going 
over and attack the next one to the left. We won't 
have time to get him befqre he gets them both, but 
we will get him after he leaves the second balloon, for 
he won't see us. We'll get him sure. Here's our one 
chance to redeem ourselves. Nurse your motor along 
for we are on our own side of the lines anyway." 
The man at the controls hesitated a moment and then 
started in the proper direction with full motor. I 
realized the danger of getting into a scrap with a 
plane that has for its object the burning of balloons, 
for they use nothing but incendiary bullets, and 
while I had no serious fear of being killed by a clean 
bullet, the idea of burning in midair was quite re- 
pulsive. Then, too, there was a green pilot, but I 
actually craved in the worst way a chance to re- 
deem our plane from its disgraceful conduct in the 
dog fight — here was the chance. 



THE WILD RIDE OF A GREENHORN 135 

The balloon crews already were on the job and 
were frantically attempting to haul the balloons 
down to safety. No other planes were in sight. We 
were the only hope of saving the day. In a few mo- 
ments I saw the observer of the first balloon jump 
with his parachute, saw the Boche empty his fire into 
the huge bag and then saw the balloon burst into 
flames. I do not know why it was, but for some rea- 
son at that particular minute our engine began to 
die and grow strong, then die again. I appeared not 
to notice the motor and excitedly pointed the ' l Green- 
horn' ' to the direction in which we could meet the 
Boche most advantageously. His face registered a 
doubtful hope that he might be able to comply with 
my urgent request and then, as if his conclusion was 
drawn after a consultation with his better judgment, 
his expression changed to one of disappointed regret, 
for he again pointed to the motor and began to utter 
"Mechanical trouble." 

He headed the plane toward home and away from 
the Boches. I knew what the people on the ground 
would think at our performance after we had once 
started after that Boche. They would be too ashamed 
of us to say anything. I was thoroughly disgusted 
and angered to the highest degree. Unmolested, ex- 
cept by local defenses, the Hun burned the second 
balloon and triumphantly flew back into Germany. 

The " Greenhorn' ' was unbalanced by horrors he 
had seen. The morning had his goat, for he kept 
on looking back, time and time again, as if he were 



136 LUCK ON THE WING 

sure that he would be the next one to go down in 
flames. 

That ride back to our airdrome was the wildest I 
ever got in my life as a flyer. The boy lost his head 
completely and I was absolutely helpless, not having 
a dual control, though I do not know much what I 
would have done at that time even if I had been for- 
tunate enough to have had a dual control plane. We 
would take sudden jerks in which I would go half 
way out of the cockpit, nothing holding me in but my 
belt. I knew the boy was getting worse and I was 
figuring how I would look after the fall. When we 
got directly over our own airdrome, to my surprise 
he called back to me in a frantic voice, "I'm lost. 
Which way now?" 

"Take it easy," I replied, "our airdrome is right 
beneath us." 

The lad came down like a streak from the sky and 
I knew we were going to hit the ground in one grand 
smash. The "Greenhorn" tried to land and couldn't, 
so he gave her the gun again, circled the field, and in 
attempting to land almost hit one of the huge 
hangars with the tail. Death looked like a sure prop- 
osition to me. I felt like jumping — anything to get 
down to earth. In this second attempt he had a 
good chance to effect a good landing, but for some 
reason or other he kept on going. Then he foolishly 
did a vertical bank and came in with the wind, in- 
tending to land. To land with the wind is one of 
the most dangerous things a pilot can do, but it did 
not seem to affect our hero. Did he land with the 



/ 



THE WILD RIDE OF A GREENHORN 137 

wind? I'll say he did. As we neared the ground 
I was sweating blood, for I knew what was sure to 
happen. Perspiration was flowing from my entire 
body with the freedom that it rolls from the winner 
of the fat man's race at the old county fair. We hit 
the field in the center, took a two-story bounce; the 
wind caught us and as the wheels hit again, 
S-P-L-O-W! We rolled over on our nose. Good for- 
tune alone kept us from doing worse. We stopped, 
and I was up in the cockpit about twelve feet from 
the ground, though I expected to be found under- 
neath the engine about ten feet under ground — and 
the ambulance came rushing to pick up our remains. 

They got me another plane ready and after con- 
siderable hard luck I finally got the mission com- 
pleted with the help of a very wonderful pilot named 
Lieutenant Weeks. Late that afternoon the "Green- 
horn" came around and asked me if I would mind 
going with him again to-morrow. I was forced to 
decline. He was relieved from further duty at the 
front. It was his first and only trip over. I don't 
think the "Kid" was a coward — he simply could not 
stand the gaff of air fighting. 

There is nothing more nerve-racking or terrifying 
than a ride in an airplane with a pilot at the stick 
in whom you have no confidence, and especially so 
when at war and in an active sector where the enemy 
has control of the air. There are many times in my 
young and blameless life in which I have been actu- 
ally scared, but never one in which I have been car- 
ried in that state of fear and terror for such a long 



138 LUCK ON THE WING 

stretch as in that two hours, twenty-one minutes and 
eighteen seconds in a Salmson airplane in the Ar- 
gonne Forest on September 26, 1918, with a green 
Lieutenant, fictitiously named " Greenhorn/ ' 



VII 



SHORTLY after the great Argonne Offensive com- 
menced, the Fifth Corps Air Service was visited 
by a small troop of Y. M. C. A. entertainers. I was 
at their airdrome at the time. In the party were two 
young ladies, one blonde and the other a brunette. 
As I was a sort of special boarder myself, I was very 
fortunately a guest at the Headquarters Mess, and 
at the head of the table sat Lieutenant Colonel A. 
R. Christie, who was the commander-in-chief of the 
Corps Air Service. I had heard early in the after- 
noon that these girls were coming, and it had been 
so long since I had seen a real American girl that my 
enthusiasm over their prospective arrival was not 
exceeded by a country lad's anticipation of his first 
circus. 

As luck would have it, at the dinner table I was 
seated next to the brunette, which was just what I 
had wanted. I must say she was a " Queen.' ' She 
had eyes that were all eyes, and when she smiled it 
seemed, as the poet would say, just like the flooding 
of a dark and desolate dungeon with the glorious 
light of day. She wore a daintily scented perfume 
that made it all seem to be just like the environment 

139 



140 LUCK ON THE WING 

of a wonderful rose garden and this girl was the 
loveliest rose of them all. 

I immediately felt my insignificance, for I was 
only a Lieutenant, and around me were Colonels, 
Majors and Captains, and on account of this sub- 
ordinance I knew my place demanded reticence 
rather than verbosity. Therefore, when introduced 
I merely told her quite formally how happy I was to 
know her and then I closed shop with all the good 
intentions of a huge, triple-locked, steel safe. How- 
ever, Eileen, for this was her name, had the master 
combination for unlocking the deposit box of pent- 
up conversation. She started it, but after she had 
been going for two or three minutes, rank did not 
amount to anything to me, because I was quite sure, 
as I had been several times before and have been 
several times since, that this was the one girl God had 
made for Elmer. So to me Rank was business and 
Love was pleasure, and pleasure superseded business. 

Versatility was this girl's middle name, and to my 
great surprise she even had a conversational knowl- 
edge of aerial observation, which is, indeed, unusual 
for a woman. Perhaps the reason she was so friendly 
to me was that I had some knowledge of aviation 
myself, and she wanted to learn more. She asked me 
no questions, however, simply volunteered her own 
information, so I felt she could not possibly be a spy, 
but whether she was or not it didn't matter to me, 
for I was thoroughly convinced that there never be- 
fore had been a girl like this and there never could 
be another afterwards. 



EILEEN'S INSPIRATION 141 

While dining, it developed that I was especially 
anxious to get a method for the rapid adjustment 
of artillery fire on moving targets. I explained to 
her that while it was no easy matter to make an ad- 
justment on a moving target even in a quiet sector 
in closed warfare, the observer, at least, had the ad- 
vantage of knowing where the battery was located, 
what the battery's signal panels would look like and 
what code signals both would use and what method of 
fire the battery would pursue. But in a war of move- 
ment in which we were engaged, our own batteries 
were constantly on the move and even if we did find 
a battery that was not moving there was no way of 
finding what code call it had been assigned, for the 
reason that they never displayed their panels as pre- 
scribed when taking a temporary position. So I ex- 
plained in a careless way just what difficulties I had 
to surmount before reaching a successful method 
satisfactory for all conditions. Perhaps I said a little 
more than I should, but I couldn't help it. I simply 
had to talk to this girl. She had the art of flattery 
well in hand, for she delighted me by demanding 
what business I had serving as an ordinary observer 
with my superior knowledge of things, whereupon I 
told her what a great man I really was — that I was 
the Operations Officer for the Air Service of the 
entire "Wing, which consisted of six Corps, and that 
I was only in this drive doing very special work. 
This sounded bigger than it really was, but it seem- 
ingly got by, for she seemed very sympathetic from 



142 LUCK ON THE WING 

the first. I was quite sure I had won my happy 
home. 

That night, upon an improvised stage in one of 
our huge airplane hangars, she sang. Galli-Curci, 
Breslau, Schumann-Heink or Farrar had nothing on 
her. She trilled and as she trilled, I thrilled. I even 
had wild ideas of a little home in California and 
everything. Alter the performance was over I re- 
ported for duty and we started to walk back to the 
main quarters together, she having spurned the 
proffer of one of my superior officer 's car. I had just 
made a grand and glorious spiel about the beautiful 
night and the myriads of twinkling stars in the 
heavens, and how wonderful it was to be walking 
along in the lovely delight of it all with such a charm- 
ing and entertaining companion, and how I dreaded 
to think that in the morning I must go out to fly 
again and might never come back to all these wonder- 
ful things. 

I was raving and sputtering away, the enslaved 
victim of temperament, sentiment and ephemeral 
love. In brooding over the possible tragedy of the 
next day I was, of course, fishing for sympathy, ex- 
pecting her to say, "Oh, don't talk like that," or 
something similar to jolly me along, but she evidently 
had had that line pulled on her before. 

"You know, Lieutenant," she smilingly said in a 
voice as welcome as that of a dying aunt about to 
give you a hundred thousand dollars, "I've been 
thinking of the wonderful work you are doing, and 
while I was singing my first song to-night I looked 



EILEEN'S INSPIRATION 143 

down at yon and I had an inspiration which I think 
will help you. ' ' 

This was the highest compliment I had ever been 
paid in my life. I had disgusted people, displeased 
them, and even been repulsive to some, but this was 
the first time I had ever been the cause of inspiring 
any one. I thought it was the psychological moment 
to put the question. I had previously concluded that 
when a woman begins to talk about inspiration she 
has fallen in love herself, so without inquiring fur- 
ther about this particular inspiration, I turned to 
love. 

" Eileen,' ' I said, and my voice quivered, for I had 

not called her that before — it had been Miss , 

"do you know, I want to ask you a question/' 

She said nothing, and I did not look, though I was 
certain that she had modestly turned her head away 
from me, bashfully anticipating the fatal question 
which was sure to come. 

"Do you know, Eileen," I stammered on, nodding 
my head affirmatively in order to carry along with 
my words additional evidence of my sincerity, "I 
have been wondering why you have paid this atten- 
tion to me to-night and have been heedless of the 
pressing attentions of the Colonels, the Majors and 
the Captains. I don't like to talk like this so soon, 
but you are leaving to-morrow and I might never 
have another opportunity." 

Then I thought of that song, ' ' Just you, Dear, just 
you, ' ' and I knew quite well that she would say that 
she had been giving me all this attention amidst the 



144 LUCK ON THE WING 

jealous and envious looks of my superior officers 
because she, herself, individually wished to and be- 
cause she liked or maybe loved me. Whereupon I 
was going to second the motion and say, "Ditto, I 
love you, Eileen, ' ' and all that sort of bunk and close 
the contract. I pictured myself enfolding her in my 
willing arms and making solemn vows such as I would 
stand on my ear for her, etc.; all of this, of course, 
being contingent upon her responding in the way I 
fully expected. 

Smiling — her teeth reflected glory in the moon- 
light — she demurely asked me, "Why, don't you 
know?" That would have been all right ordinarily, 
but it had a ringing inflection I failed to compre- 
hend, and being a man of words instead of action, I 
said, "No, I don't know." 

"Well," she went on rather surprised at my stu- 
pidity, "you see, our manager instructed us that the 
higher officers do not need the attention and en- 
couragement of the young ladies because they do not 
have to undergo any hardships, so we have been in- 
structed to pay as much attention as possible to the 
junior officers, and as you were about the most 
junior here — well " 

This was sufficient. I realized that I was on about 
the fifty-fourth floor of the Woolworth Building and 
had better catch the express elevator down, for it was 
going to be an awful fall. I had hit the mat and was 
already taking the count. 

"I was telling you about the inspiration," she went 
on, and in a hollow voice I said, "Yes, Miss ," 



EILEEN'S INSPIRATION 145 

swallowing many cubic feet of chagrin and remorse, 
yet still determined. 

"I think I have a plan for adjusting your batteries. 
I got the idea while I was singing to-night. Of 
course, I know nothing about the practical part of it, 
but . why wouldn 't it work this way 1 ' ' and she 
roughly described a scheme that seemed about as 
feasible as most military tactics that women conceive. 
I offered her no encouragement, but she asked me if 
I wouldn't try it out and I told her I would do any- 
thing for her. It would, at least, give me some ex- 
cuse for keeping in touch with her, since I could in- 
form her from time to time how her system was get- 
ting along, and I was firmly bent, in spite of the 
momentary rebuff I had just received, upon knowing 
this charming and bewitching damsel better. 

As usual, the night gave me the opportunity to 
calm down considerably, so the next morning I took 
off quite early, the same old guy as before, with no 
domestic worries. Eileen was momentarily forgotten 
— my ardor was perhaps but a passing fantasy. 

At a little village several miles north of Mont- 
faucon there is quite a fork having two roads 
branching off to the south and over which the Ger- 
mans were passing in their forced retreat. Flying 
in that direction the approaching roads were dotted 
with scattered German transports which consisted 
of many horses and very few motor vehicles as the 
Germans were short of gasoline and what they did 
have of this scarce article they used for their air- 
planes — their general transportation work was car- 



146 LUCK ON THE WING 

ried on largely by horses and a more extended use 
of their steam locomotives and railroads. But, 
coming from the south were several of these convoys 
trudging along as fast as they could, which, at best, 
was very slow. This was unusual for a retreat is 
generally done under cover of darkness, but, I sup- 
pose this material was such that it had to be moved 
at all costs. 

Ah! I thought, this is a splendid target. I'll put 
the artillery on. So, directing the pilot to go back 
to our own battery, I began to make furious at- 
tempts to get into communication with our artillery, 
by flying low and finding the location with the naked 
eye. 

Again my theory of the previous day seemed to 
be all wrong, for in spite of all I could do I couldn't 
get an answer from any of our batteries. Finally, 
flying extremely low I found a couple of them and 
threw them messages. Neither of them would fire. 
Why? I don't know. Perhaps they were about to 
move up again. However, I knew that of all of the 
batteries in our Division there must a few that could 
work. Here was a wonderful target. I was to the 
last straw — there didn't seem to be anything else 
to do but go home, so, pretty well disgruntled I mo- 
tioned the pilot to go on home. Thus, my mind being 
freed of the cares and responsibilities of the mission, 
it naturally began to turn toward the personal in- 
terests of life, and, naturally enough I thought of my 
recently acquired acquaintance, Eileen — and in- 
stantly I remembered her inspiration — that silly, tac- 



EILEEN'S INSPIRATION 147 

tical dream she had conceived the night before. I 
knew it was impossible to try it out as she had sug- 
gested it, but the principle had possibilities, and 
seemed to be worth taking a chance on. If it failed, 
it would do no harm, and, at least, I could give her 
some kind of a report. 

Attracting the pilot's attention, I motioned him to 
turn around and although he gave me a look that 
indicated he had some doubt as to my mental bal- 
ance, he followed the instructions. It was just a 
hunch at most. Instead of calling the particular 
batteries designated to fire on fugitive targets I 
calmly proceeded to call each and all of the twenty- 
four batteries assigned to the Division. In about 
five minutes, to my extreme delight, I picked up a 
new panel from a battery. Consulting my chart 
I found its call. I immediately wired them a mes- 
sage and instantly they put out the panel "I got 
you" or "Understood." Communication was es- 
tablished. The inspiration was a success. 

Over to my right, my eye caught another panel of 
another battery. Consulting my chart again I found 
that they were both Heavy Artillery — just what I 
wanted! The only fault with this method was 
that with so much wireless being flashed through the 
air it would very likely interfere with any other 
plane doing similar work in that sector. I knew of 
no other aerial adjustments going on just then, so, 
the chance was worth it. 

Having gotten the two batteries ready to work I 
wired to every other battery I had called, sending 



148 LUCK ON THE WING 

them the code message, "I have no further need 
for you," this, in order that they would not, by 
any chance, hold up their firing on account of my 
previous message. "Well," I thought, "the nice 
thing about Eileen is that she is not only beautiful 
and can sing, but she is sane — she has a good bean." 
Even before I had done the work, which I felt sure 
I would be able to accomplish, I was formulating 
dreams of the way she would receive me when I 
told her of the great success of her inspiration. 

I did not register these two batteries on the road 
fork, itself, for should the first few shells fall near 
the road fork it would give a preliminary warning 
and the Germans would, undoubtedly, stop their 
traffic and scatter. A few shells, even if they did 
happen to hit, would not serve the end I had in 
mind. I was thinking of something bigger — a few 
pot shots on the road would do more harm than 
good. So, selecting a point about a quarter of a 
mile, directly to the right of the road fork, I re- 
ported the location to the battery. Of course, con- 
sulting their maps, they could not find a legitimate 
reason for my desire to fire on this particular point; 
that is, from its natural location, but fortunately 
they did not question my decision and presently 
gave me the signal "O.K." I immediately wired 
them to fire. On account of the hasty advances it 
had been necessary for these batteries to make, their 
firing data was considerably off, so, it took me almost 
an hour to get the two of them accurately placed on 
my temporary target. This accomplished, I began 



EILEEN'S INSPIRATION 149 

to again pay attention to the road fork. Our firing 
had not interrupted the traffic. Coming from the 
south about a quarter of a mile down, there seemed 
to be approaching quite a composite transport made 
up of wagons drawn by about four horses each, and 
coming from the north, approaching the same road 
fork, were a body of men and some horses. The 
men were not mounted, except in a few instances, 
and I should say there were almost a hundred men 
and about forty horses. To the best of my calcu- 
lations, the head of the column coming from the 
south would pass this body of men with their horses 
at the road fork within a few minutes. "With the 
road fork filled with passing troops and horses it 
would be all the more advantageous as a target. 

The mathematical calculations and mechanical ad- 
justments necessary for the batteries to correct a 
difference of a quarter of a mile in deflection, are 
considerable, I had been told, so, it was necessary 
that they know their new target immediately in order 
that they might fire immediately at my command. 
I wired them to change their target three hundred 
meters to the left and then I specified the exact 
point by giving the coordinate location and last I 
told them to be prepared to go into a "zone fire" at 
signal. "Zone fire" is the deadliest of all destruct- 
ive fire. It consists of firing the guns as rapidly as 
possible into an area, or zone, immediately adjacent 
to the target specified. The object of zone fire is 
that by the scattering of shells the target will cer- 
tainly be hit by at least a few of the shells and if 



150 LUCK ON THE WING 

the target is large, as was the case here, the results 
would be disastrous. 

To impress upon the batteries the urgency of speed- 
ing up their corrections I continually wired them in 
code, "Is battery ready?" "Is battery ready V 9 
They put out the panels "Wait a few minutes,' ' but 
I continued to wire, "Is battery ready ?" We had 
no code for ' ' Hurry up ; ' ' I wished many times we 
had, for the columns were fast approaching each 
other. In a few minutes it would be too late to get 
both columns. I realized those battery commanders 
had just cause to make use of an extended stream 
of profane language when I gave them that large 
correction of three hundred meters or a quarter of 
a mile after adjusting them to such a fine point, for, 
undoubtedly, they could not see the necessity for it. 
Fortunately they both had confidence and stayed 
with me. Just as the heads of the two columns began 
to pass each other, which was just a little north of 
the cross roads, the first battery put out a panel, 
' ' Battery is ready. ' ' 

The airplane signal to fire was three long wireless 
emissions so it was only necessary now to press the 
key three times and the show would be on. I called 
the battery rapidly, but before I gave the fatal signal 
I thought of the warden of the penitentiary about 
to press the fatal buzzer that sends the doomed soul 
to his death. The simile naturally struck me for I 
had a hundred men and more horses directly in my 
trap. There was no way for them to escape. The 
deadly zone fire, with the speed of lightning, would 



EILEEN'S INSPIRATION 151 

soon crush them. I could imagine our men at their 
guns in the improvised battery pits, ready for the 
minutes of strenuous work before them, waiting for 
the radio buzzer to speak and command. As I looked 
down I could see the troops and transports were 
already passing each other — the road fork was filled — 
it was now time to act. I felt as if I simply could 
not bring myself to the point of pressing the key. 
The men and the crushing out of their lives, the 
blighting of the hopes of many fond sweethearts, 
the wrecking of many homes and the grief of many 
mothers were strangely enough only passing 
thoughts, for it had to be done — "C'est la Guerre"— 
they were the enemies of my country. But there was 
another side of the story, the horses — for if there is 
any one thing in my life I have always loved it is a 
horse. Since I was a lad I have always picked up 
with the worst old skate in the town just out of 
sympathy, and to see a man abusing a horse would 
draw me into a fist fight quicker than anything 
else. The poor horses — dumb and senseless — they 
were not my enemies, except from a cold-blooded 
standpoint regarding them as war material of 
the enemy. 

Looking back I found that the other battery had 
put out their panel "Battery is ready.' ' It sternly 
called me back to my duty and the task before me 
for it was not the time to indulge in sentimental 
reveries — I must act! I hastily called the second 
battery and again repeated my call to the first, then 
directing my pilot to head toward home I took one 



152 LUCK ON THE WING 

last look at the slowly moving, unsuspecting col- 
umns — then, setting my face homeward, I firmly 
pressed the key — one, two, three times. 

There was no doubt in my mind but that we 
should call it a day, so, we were homeward bound 
with that intention. From a strictly military stand- 
point we were proud enough of our performance and 
as we winged our way along I took things easy but 
kept casually looking about the sky to see that we 
were not taken unawares by any stray patrols. 
Looking ahead I saw the friendly captive balloons 
lolling along peaceably enough and my mind was 
centered pretty largely upon the seemingly monoto- 
nous existence of the men in the balloons who had to 
stay in one position for hour after hour, but I 
shuddered as I thought of being forced to jump from 
one of those bags in case of attack. After all, I 
was glad I was in an airplane instead of a balloon. 

For quite a while it seemed that we were lower 
than the balloons, then suddenly the balloons 
seemed to be considerably below us. My impres- 
sion was that we were gaining altitude, but upon 
consulting my altimeter I found that we were flying 
at a constant height. One thing was certain, the 
balloons were getting lower; they no longer lolled, 
but everything seemed taut. For some reason they 
were frantically being hauled down. I readily as- 
certained the reason, — four German Fokkers com- 
ing head-on from Hunland with the undeniable 
intention of either burning the balloons or burning 
me. I hesitated a moment; the Huns kept straight 



EILEEN'S INSPIRATION 153 

on and I heaved a big sigh of relief. They were 
not going to burn me; at least, not for the present. 
The balloons seemed to be going down mighty slow, 
and the planes were coming fast. If the Huns could 
be stopped for only a half-minute the balloons would 
be safe. Here we were in a very happy position to 
divert the attack should we care to and also in a very 
unhappy position if we did not care to, for while 
it was not our duty to attack, yet indeed, in this 
case, it was our privilege. My mind was not made 
up what to do. If we turned to the right we would 
be directly in their path and above them. From 
instinct I shook the plane and motioned toward the 
four Fokkers and before I knew it, the pilot, think- 
ing I intended to attack, started directly toward 
them. 

Now there is a vast difference between maneuvering 
for the purpose of diverting and maneuvering for 
the purpose of attack, for had it been one or two 
planes I would not have hesitated to attack under 
the circumstances, but I want to say that I'll wait 
a long, long time before attacking four fast enemy 
Fokkers of my own accord under any circumstances. 

It is surprising how rapidly two planes, when ap- 
proaching each other from opposite directions, can 
come together, for before I had time to actually 
realize what was happening we were in the midst of 
a one-sided running fight in which we were doing the 
running and in which the Germans were peppering 
lead into us from all sides. 

We had accomplished our mission for when the 



154 LUCK ON THE WING 

German planes attacked us, it guaranteed that they 
would not be able to attack the balloons, which would 
have plenty of time to be hauled down to a position of 
safety at their beds. While the diverting was suc- 
cessful, the diversion of diverting was not, for we 
still had to get ourselves out of the mess. 

We were going in some direction, but which direc- 
tion it was I didn't know and did not care. Right 
after us were these four Fokkers. This was the first 
opportunity I had ever had to make a comparison of 
the Salmson plane in a running fight. It was won- 
derful, for while the Germans were a little faster, it 
was hardly noticeable. The horrible truth of our 
predicament did not dawn upon me until, by some 
hunch; I looked at the ground during the fight and 
saw already considerably behind us, the village of 
Montfaucon, which is so clearly and unmistakably 
discernible from the air. I realized we had been com- 
pletely outmaneuvered, for we were headed straight 
and going farther and farther into Germany. No 
wonder the Boche had not closed in on us. They were 
simply leading us to our slaughter on their own 
ground, or even worse, if we did survive we would be 
prisoners of war, a thought I had always dreaded 
much more than death, for once in flying over 
Pagny-sur-Meuse in the Saint Mihiel fight, I saw 
the thousands of Huns we had captured packed in 
bull pens like so many cattle. From this I preferred 
death to prison. Dropping my machine guns for 
the moment I violently pulled the cords that were 
tied to the pilot's arms and emphatically motioned 



EILEEN'S INSPIRATION 155 

him to turn completely around. He seemed to think 
that we were headed toward home and was extremely 
obstinate. The situation was serious; it was no time 
for discussion. I was sure of my direction. Reaching 
over the cockpit I frantically struck him on the 
shoulder and demanded that he turn around. 

"We turned and as we did the Germans realized 
that we had found ourselves and the battle royal 
ensued. The leader came first and behind him the 
three others in good formation, throwing two singing 
streams of fire from each plane, for in attacking 
balloons they used incendiary bullets. The leader, to 
my mind, was the only one that seemed to have had 
experience — he was, indeed, good — but the rest of 
them I thought were boobs — they did not seem to 
have the least bit of initiative, always waiting for 
the leader and doing exactly whatever he did first. 
Then they tried a formation I had never seen be- 
fore. Climbing about two hundred feet above and 
on all sides of us, they kept making a series of short 
dives, each plane firing about twenty-five rounds at 
each dive. The object of this was undoubtedly to 
get our morale and if possible force us down without 
taking a chance on coming close where machine gun 
fire could -become effective. This was to our advan- 
tage for we were making time toward home and I 
only had one full magazine of ammunition left and it 
was all in my right gun. 

Upon seeing that we were not falling for their 
cunning ruse the leader became unusually bully and 
came directly upon us. I let him have it for a 



156 LUCK ON THE WING 

burst of about forty rounds which I knew went into 
his plane and at the end of which he had gone under 
-my tail in a dive. It looked as if I had gotten him. 
With typical precision the other three came 012. I 
deliberately aimed my gun upon the nearest, greatly 
encouraged in the belief that I had gotten the leader. 
Their bullets of fire were going into my plane, but 
with a most deliberate aim I again pulled the trigger. 
It would not fire. At most I had only sixty rounds 
left, but even in sixty rounds there was hope. The 
gun was jammed and I could not get the magazine 
off to put it on the other gun. I was desperate. 
How close the three came I do not know, but seeing 
my predicament they realized my helplessness and 
pounced upon me like a toy target. Frantically I 
worked at the gun, my hands bruised and bleeding, 
hopelessly trying to unlock the jam for a last chance 
with life. If I only had something to fit in the 
cocking piece to give me enough leverage to clear 
that jam. In my mad desperation and hopelessness 
I looked around for something to hurl — anything to 
get them away. There was nothing to be done — it 
was all up with us. By chance I glanced into the 
bottom of the cockpit and on the floor my eyes caught 
sight of a Very pistol which had been left in the 
plane by the observer on the previous mission whose 
duty it had been to find the front line of our ad- 
vanced troops. 

A Very pistol is a gun resembling an ordinary 
pistol, except that it has a wide barrel. It is used 
to eject brilliant fire rockets as a signal from the 



EILEEN'S INSPIRATION 157 

airplane to the infantry. These signals vary with 
the number of stars fired. For instance, a rocket of 
six stars means ''Where are yon? Show your 
panels/ ' whereupon the Infantry displays its white 
panels of cloth, while three rockets indicates ' ' Under- 
stood " upon which the Infantry takes in its panels 
of white cloth. 

I grabbed this Very pistol in a wild effort to throw 
it as a last means of defense, but the three had 
already passed under my tail, while to my disappoint- 
ing surprise, I discovered that I had not gotten the 
leader as I had thought — he was coming up under my 
tail, already firing. The others seemed to be getting 
their formation behind him. As the leader came up 
under me in a final blow of death, I madly drew the 
pistol back in a position to hurl it at him when the 
sudden idea struck me that if it were loaded I would 
have a chance to set him afire. The cartridge was 
intact — it was ready to be fired. Amidst his volley 
of fire, I reached far over the cockpit and as the 
leader passed beneath me, I fired. The charge missed 
him completely, but directly behind him burst the 
signal — six flaming stars which brilliantly floated 
slowly on toward earth. My last chance had failed. 
Suddenly resigned to my fate I awaited the onrush 
of the other three — I was sure it was only a matter 
of seconds — I had no defense. To my absolute sur- 
prise the first of the three violently tilted his plane, 
banked to the right, and the other two followed. 
I was at a loss to understand this move; then came 
another thought — there was still a chance. Rapidly 



158 LUCK ON THE WING 

ejecting the empty cardboard shell from the Very 
pistol I attempted to adjust the barrel to the cocking 
piece of my jammed machine gun. It fitted — here 
was the needed instrument of leverage — with all my 
force I jerked — something gave way and I fell to 
the other side of the cockpit — from the side of the 
gun there hung a mashed defective cartridge and the 
jam was cleared. With luck, there were fifty or 
sixty bullets left. Approaching me again was the 
leader, but where were the other three? I glanced 
back — they were still headed to the right — they had 
left the fight. Calmly I waited his onslaught. 
Boldly coming up with the certain knowledge that I 
was still helpless and certainly his easy prey, he 
came, for nothing but wonderful luck on our part 
and rotten shooting on theirs had saved us so far. 
This time he did not fire until he had dead aim, 
nor did I fire until I had dead aim. Following his 
approach with extreme care and closest possible ad- 
justed sights, I waited. When I was sure, I pulled 
the trigger — I don't know how many rounds he fired, 
but only a few, for my aim had been true — his guns 
suddenly stopped — his plane climbed steeply, even 
up beyond me, then tumbled over in a sort of half 
loop and began to swish away helplessly to one side 
and then to the other, like a falling leaf — at last it 
dived headlong and from its last dive it never 
recovered. 

My ammunition was gone, but to the greatest of 
luck and horseshoes, I attributed the fact that the 
other three planes were also gone. In a few moments 



EILEEN'S INSPIRATION 159 

more we again passed over Montfaucon and crossed 
the lines. The balloons were just beginning to rise 
again. "Well," I thought as we passed them, "you 
seem to be safe enough this time, and I must say I 
admire you for going up again so soon after such a 
narrow escape, but for me — never again ! I 'm going 
to stay on the ground the rest of my life. ' ' 

Of course, I often wondered why those other three 
Huns had left the fight. Here is the solution of the 
mystery. At Christmas time, three months later, I 
was in Coblenz, on the Rhine. The war was over and 
we were a part of the Army of Occupation. Under 
the terms of the Armistice the Germans had to turn 
over two hundred airplanes to the Americans and 
were to send twenty German flyers along to test the 
planes in the presence of competent American judges 
before they were accepted. Late in the evening, after 
a joyous Christmas dinner, at which wine and merri- 
ment abounded, an orderly came in and told us there 
were two German officers to report. We found that 
they were two of the flyers detailed by the German 
Government to turn over the planes. One of them 
was a lad named Donhauser, who claimed to have 
shot down twenty-six allied planes, among them 
Quentin Roosevelt; the other was a lad named 
Teske, who also was an Ace. We invited them to 
join us, and during the conversation that followed 
it was interesting to note the many battle fronts 
over which we had fought against each other. Upon 
discussing the Argonne it developed that Donhauser 's 
squadron was opposite the area in which I had this 



160 LUCK ON THE WING 

fight on the twenty-eighth of September, so, I took 
occasion to clear up the incomprehensible reason 
why these three had left the fight. I casually asked 
him if at a certain hour, at a certain place, on a 
certain date, he had a patrol, evidently bent upon 
attacking balloons, diverted by a bi-place observation 
plane. He took out a little book from his pocket 
and after hastily scanning the well-kept notes, he 
looked up and said, ' ' Was one of the Deutschen planes 
shot down ? ' ' I answered ' ' Yes. " ' ' Do you know if 
it was the leader ? ' ' he inquired. I told him I thought 
it was. He again verified the time and the place 
and then opened up. This was his story : 

"The leader, who was shot down, was an excep- 
tionally good flyer and had several victories to his 
credit. There was something queer about it — in the 
squadron it was known as the 'Mystery Mission ' for 
the reason that three of the German planes left the 
fight when the Observation Plane was absolutely 
helpless with jammed machine guns. They claimed 
that the German leader had fired a signal rocket to 
them, which was their signal for that day which 
meant for all the planes to leave the fight at once 
as larger allied patrols were approaching. ' ' 

He explained that the German theory was that in 
obeying the signal the three German planes had left 
the fight, but the leader, being a very daring fighter, 
took a last chance, hoping to get away before the re- 
inforcements arrived, and in attacking the observa- 
tion plane alone, was shot down. He also said that 
this was the story the three had told, who all claimed 



EILEEN'S INSPIRATION 161 

to have seen the signal fired by their leader. Even 
at that they were threatened with court-martial for 
cowardice in leaving the combat and deserting their 
leader, and they were only saved by several German 
officers, who had also seen the same signal from the 
ground, testifying in their behalf. 

Thus — the mystery was cleared — the Very pistol 
had saved the day. It was, after all, better that I 
had not set the leader afire with the flaming rockets. 
Indeed, they had served a greater use. 

What happened to Eileen? Naturally that should 
be explained. Well, it 's this way : I had a lot to tell 
her, so, when I got to the airdrome I hastened across 
the field to the Headquarters to find her. 

"Lad," I said to the orderly standing in front of 
the headquarters, "have the pretty girls of the Y. M. 
C. A. gone yet?" 

"Yep," he replied, "that's them goin' down there 
now — to Souilly," and he pointed to a huge cloud 
of dust following the trail of an army auto a half 
mile down the road, and in that cloud of dust, seem- 
ingly rising into the sky, floated also my fond hopes 
and prospects of Eileen, for conditions, in a few 
days, made it impracticable for me to follow her 
movements for some time to come. 

"Well," I said, sort of sorry like that they had 
gone, ' ' they were sure pretty girls, weren 't they ? ' ' 

"Yep," he grinned. 

"Especially the black-haired one," I went on. 

"Yep, she's mine, Lieutenant. She's been talking 



162 LUCK ON THE WING 

to me for a half an hour this morning/ ' and again 
he grinned sheepishly, until his grin almost became 
a smile, and we both looked longingly down the road 
where the ear was fast disappearing from view. 

I looked at the orderly and the orderly looked at 
me. "Talked to you half an hour, eh?" I ques- 
tioned. "Yep, fully that," was the proud reply. I 
put my hands in my pockets and started to walk 
away muttering to myself "how do they do it? how 
do they do it?" — for this soldier was about the 
homeliest and most unattractive person I could im- 
agine, yet he had evidently put my hopes to rout in 
quick order. Then came an idea: and I wheeled 
around and called to the soldier, "Hey, boy, what's 
your rank?" "Ain't got no rank, Sir," he replied; 
"I'm a buck private." Whistling a light tune I 
walked on. "I get it, I get it," was my soliloquy. 
' ' Eileen still following instructions on catering to the 
junior ranks. She's sour grapes," And thus she 
passed from my life — but I hope not forever. 



VIII 

DOWN AND OUT AND IN 

EDDIE EICKENBACKER told me a story while 
we were a part of the Army of Occupation 
which about expresses my idea of this narrative, the 
fact that I lived through it being what I consider my 
greatest accomplishment. 

"Kick" had in his famous 94th Pursuit Squadron, 
a hair-lipped pilot with whom I was earlier associated 
in the equally prominent 12th Observation Squad- 
ron. This lad was one of # the few of our many air- 
men who realized that the flyer at the front plays 
ninety per cent in luck and not on good judgment. 
His flying was daredevilish and reckless, which, 
while it might be considered good form in pursuit 
work, was such that it involved entirely too great 
a risk for the two-place, or observation plane. So, 
the kid was transferred to Pursuit where he made 
good right off. 

It was the day of the Armistice. The boys were 
talking it all over, reminiscing and the like. Several 
of the famous pilots of the 94th had given accounts 
of some particular thrilling fight in which they had 
finally won, naming it — their greatest accomplish- 
ment of the war. So, as that was the topic of con- 

163 



164 LUCK ON THE WING 

versation, Eddie asked our friend what, after all, 
he considered his greatest accomplishment. The boys 
all listened attentively for the kid usually sprang 
something. The hairlipped lad puzzled for a mo- 
ment, then answered with his inimitable impediment, 
''Well, Captain Eickenb acker, the war is now over, 
isn't it!" 

"Yes," replied Eddie, hopeful that this was the 
correct reply. 

" which means no one else will get killed, 

doesn't it?" he added solemnly, and Rick solemnly 
attested to this fact. "Well," the lad went on, "you 
see me ; I 'm still here. ' ' 

"That's right!" said the great Ace of Aces. 
"What about it?" 

"Well, Captain Rickenbacker, " replied the boy 
with evident surprise at Eddie's apparent density. 
"Look me over, Captain, I'm still alive. That is my 
greatest accomplishment. ' ' 

And after all, I am sure that all of our fighting 
men who have done actual service at the front — go- 
ing through its hazards and dangers for any length 
of time, will agree that their greatest accomplish- 
ment is the fact that they came out of the thing 
alive; for while the code of military ethics at the 
front taught that one's own life should be secondary 
to the accomplishment of one's mission, yet there 
could not help but be a justifiably selfish pride after 
the mission was accomplished, that the participant 
was also alive to tell the tale. 

The 30th of September was a terrible day — there 



DOWN AND OUT AND IN 165 

was very little flying, it was foggy and the clouds 
were low, irregular and uncertain, while the wind 
was almost a gale. We had no business going out — 
our over-anxiety, which the French say is the great- 
est fault of the American soldier, to get our work 
accomplished was the only justifiable reason for the 
trip. 

But even at that on the morning of September 
30th the Flying Corps had no reason for being in 
the air unless the mission was of grave urgency, and 
fortunately ours was urgent for I was still adjusting 
our artillery on important enemy moving targets. 
Here is how my greatest accomplishment happened: 

I arrived at the hangars shortly after daybreak 
and found Davis, who was assigned to fly with me, 
ready and waiting. I had never flown with him 
before, but I had heard of him and his reputation, 
and it was a relief to know I was to get a genuine 
pilot, such as Lieutenant Raymond Davis, whom we 
called " Uncle Joe Davis, of Danville/' since he 
hailed from the same well-known town as Uncle Joe 
Cannon. 

At first, the weather was impossible, so, we had 
to wait for the atmosphere to clear a trifle and for 
the clouds to lift some, as a high ceiling in heavy 
artillery adjustments is not only advantageous but 
necessary. So, we hung around and hobnobbed and 
got acquainted. At about eight o'clock we decided 
we would try it — for the importance of impeding the 
retreat of the enemy as much as possible was im- 
perative. The advance through the Argonne was 



166 LUCK ON THE WING 

proving itself to be a hard enough tussle for the 
doughboys, and we all felt that they certainly 
merited all the assistance it was possible for aviation 
to give them. 

Luck was not our way, for it was not until after 
trying four different planes, all of which failed for 
one reason or another, that we found a bus that 
would buzz. It looked like an off-day, for the gale 
was so sweeping that we almost had a serious acci- 
dent even in taking off. There is safety in height, so, 
when we got up three or four hundred feet our 
morale also went up a trifle. The ground station sig- 
naled that my radio wireless was O.K., so I jok- 
ingly called to Davis, "All aboard for Hunland. ,, 
He answered "Check," and we headed toward the 
line for our last mission of the great war. 

I knew the wind was high, but I did not actually 
realize its true velocity until I happened to look 
toward the earth and to my surprise saw to our right 
the familiar ruins of the village of Montfaucon sitting 
high and distinct amid the surrounding ruins and 
desolations. I had never flown so fast, for a strong 
wind behind the airplane adds marvelous rapidity to 
its speed. We were swept along like a feather in a 
gale. In front, on the Bois de Beuges, there was 
raining a tremendous artillery barrage, which we 
knew extended all across the Argonne front. Almost 
instantly, it seemed, we were over Romange, which 
was Boche territory, and hastily I picked my target. 
We would again pile up the German traffic by ad- 
justing our heavy artillery on their cross roads in 



DOWN AND OUT AND IN 167 

front of our own 91st Division, whose batteries were 
around Epionville. We would repeat our previous 
successful adjustment and when the traffic was heavi- 
est, would call for fire. Imparting this information 
to Davis, he turned the machine and we started back 
toward the line to call our batteries and start the 
fatal ball rolling. 

A favorite trick of the Hun's anti-aircraft 
artillery, and our own, as far as that is concerned, 
is to allow the entrance of observation planes to 
a considerable depth within the lines without molest- 
ing them, closely following it all the time with finely 
adjusted sights, and just as the plane turns to go 
back toward the lines the artillery opens up with 
everything available. 

I knew it was going to happen as soon as we 
turned into the wind and that in bucking the wind 
we would practically stand still in the air, making 
us an easy target, especially since we were skimming 
along low, heavy clouds upon which the artillery 
could easily get accurate data as to range and direc- 
tion. It happened. The Archies opened up. As 
luck would have it they realized our position and 
had us in their deadly bracket. One high-explosive 
shell burst directly under our tail, whereupon the 
plane reflexed like a bucking broncho. 

The airman is bracketed when the archies have 
bursts on all sides of him, for in such a case he 
knows not what direction to go for one is about as 
bad as the other. One thing was certain, we did not 
dare to stand still in the air hanging on the pro- 



168 LUCK ON THE WING 

peller, as we were doing in fighting the wind. We 
must slip the deadly noose of the bracket and do 
it before it was too late. 

Realizing the necessity for quick action, Davis 
sharply slipped the plane into the wind, and amid 
a deafening applause of exploding shells, we plunged 
to momentary safety behind the curtain of the low, 
dark clouds with which the sky was filled. We were 
in the cloud, perhaps, for five minutes and the wind 
was with us. I knew we were covering a great deal 
of territory and in the wrong direction. So, when 
we emerged I quite well knew we were completely 
off our course. I asked Davis if he knew his location. 
He answered frankly that he did not — that it was 
away off his map. I was in the same predicament ex- 
actly as to the location, it being off my map as well, 
but fortunately I recognized the bomb-shattered town 
nearby as Dun-sur-Meuse, as I had many times 
studied it as a very prominent bombing objective. 

' ' Head due south along the river, ' ' I cried through 
the communicating tube, " We've got to hit the lines 
sometime. ' ' 

Dun-sur-Meuse had been bombed very heavily in 
the drive and I am sure the remaining inhabitants 
thought we too had that intention, for in heading 
south they certainly let us know we were not wel- 
come. This time it was not only artillery, but ma- 
chine guns in such a hail of fire that we would have 
been brought down with little effort had we attempted 
to fly a straight course. We didn't attempt it. We 
answered by sharp zig-zags, and it was the master 



DOWN AND OUT AND IN 169 

job of my life to keep up with the snaps, jerks, slips 
and dives of Davis', in dodging the archies; and to 
still keep our direction in mind. We attempted this 
for fully ten minutes, but we were making no appre- 
ciable headway. The firing was too heavy — we must 
get higher as we could not expect to live at nine 
hundred feet at a very long period. We had been 
lucky to survive this long. 

Davis headed due south by his compass which was 
east by mine. It looked all wrong to me. 

"Is your compass pointing south?" I asked fever- 
ishly, for it was a question of life and death. 

1 'Yes, due south," he replied. 

I knew one of the two was considerably off, but it 
might be mine as well as his, so I decided to try his. 
A constant mist of rifle fire and archies followed us 
in our ascent into the clouds, which fortunately was 
not long — thanks to the climbing power of the Salm- 
son airplane. We were in and above the clouds for 
fully twenty-five minutes, and believe me, those 
twenty-five minutes were prayers that Davis's com- 
pass was unerring. 

Finally, considering the wind velocity, our prob- 
able distance from the lines, and the speed of the 
motor, I was convinced that if the compass were true 
we should be well over the French lines, so, hoping 
to encourage Davis, I called, "Well, Davis, if that 
old pointer of yours is right we are in La Belle 
France again. Let's go down and see." 

He put the boat into a dive and we came out of 
the clouds in a long, straight glide. In a jiffy I quite 



170 LUCK ON THE WING 

well knew we were not in France. A German balloon 
with the Iron Cross was directly beneath us firmly 
moored to its bed on the ground. Here we were at 
less than a thousand feet. The excitement around 
that balloon bed could easily be imagined when out 
of a cloud, in such terrible weather, a huge and awk- 
ward two-place enemy plane unexpectedly dropped. 
I have been on the ground at our balloon beds when 
they were attacked and know something of the awful 
fire the attacking plane goes through in attempting 
to burn the balloon even at the ordinary height, but 
it is many times worse when it is moored to its bed, 
for the lower the plane must come the greater the 
hazard. It is for this reason that most armies con- 
sider it a greater feat for an aviator to destroy a 
balloon than an airplane. There we were like a great 
ghost suddenly manifesting itself, and take it from 
me, if the machine gunners were asleep on their 
work at our unannounced arrival, they mighty sud- 
denly showed signs of speed for almost instantly, 
from every angle came the put-put-put, while we 
helplessly tried every conceivable maneuver to dodge 
the many guns which were firing upon us at full 
force. It is not strange that the airman does not 
worry much over the regular steel ammunition of the 
machine gun, for like other similar dangers, while 
they are the most fatal, they cannot be seen, so, he 
is oblivious to their presence ; but when the guns are 
using tracer and incendiary bullets, the stream of 
fire is not unlike a miniature fire rocket and behind 
each of the pretty fire rockets comes two silent, fatal 



DOWN AND OUT AND IN 171 

ball cartridges, for, indeed, the very object of 
1 'tracer" ammunition is to show the path the bullets 
are taking. If there is anything that gets a flyer 's 
wind up, it is tracer bullets from the ground. Our 
wind was up and had been up for some time. But, 
Davis did the right thing and again headed with the 
wind, while "tracers" saw us, met us and almost 
conquered us. It certainly is terrifying to watch 
them come up at you for the helpless part of it is that 
they come so fast you cannot even try to dodge them. 
They were all around us; our right wing was per- 
fectly perforated with several accurate bursts and in 
the diving and slipping I had been thrown around 
in the cockpit like the dice in a dicebox. My seat had 
slipped from beneath me about three times, but the 
condition of my mind was such that I was positive 
that it had been shot from beneath me. The sharp 
turning with the wind left a wake of disheartening 
tracers in our trail. It resembled a billion small 
rockets for the flaming trajectories were easily fol- 
lowed. The Fourth of July was not in it. I thought 
at the time that it was a sight well worth seeing, 
but dangerously unhealthful. Soon though as we shot 
along we were again greeted by the high explosive 
bursts of the artillery which was some relief for they 
were considerably behind us and we were at least 
away from the machine guns at the balloon bed. 

The painful fact was that while we were going 
through the air at a terrific speed, that speed was 
carrying us farther and farther into Germany. The 
situation was becoming more and more serious. 



172 LUCK ON THE WING 

What could we now do? We could not possibly 
fight the wind below the clouds and make the long 
distance home, so I told Davis to go into the clouds 
again ; at least, we would not be such an easy target. 
This time we would try my compass, for while it 
might be slightly untrue, if we went long enough we 
surely could not fail reaching France at some point. 
He started to climb and, well — those were long 
moments. The climbing greatly decreased our 
speed, while the machine guns again played upon us 
most cruelly. But that climbing was a most wonder- 
ful piece of work; poor Davis twisted that boat in 
every conceivable manner, but the best part of it all 
was that he continued the climb at all costs. There 
was nothing so dear to me as those clouds — so near 
and yet so far. Anything to again get out of that 
constant and swarming bee-hive of fire bullets. Then 
we penetrated the ceiling. My heart was again al- 
most normal for a few seconds. Here was the su- 
preme moment it seemed — truly to err was to die, 
or worse, to finally land from shortage of gasoline 
and be made prisoner. Hugging close to the com- 
pass, oblivious to all else, lest we deviate a jot from 
its true south reading, I slowly and distinctly called 
the directions. For fully a half an hour we followed 
this procedure — sometimes above the clouds and most 
of the time in them, but never below them. At last 
I was absolutely certain that we were well over dear 
old France again ; at least, somewhere between Paris 
and Nancy, so, after another three minutes to be 
sure, I called to Davis again. 



DOWN AND OUT AND IN 173 

"This time we have sure foxed the Hun," I said; 
"let's go down and look over the scenery." 

We had climbed quite a lot farther in the clouds 
than we thought, and it took longer to come to light, 
so, in our anxiety to see France again he put it into 
a steeper dip and soon we emerged in almost a 
straight dive. Below us to the right was another 
balloon at its bed. It was our own balloon line, of 
course. It could be no other for my compass had 
been undoubtedly true and somehow the ground 
looked like France. Furthermore, we had not been 
fired upon. 

"Davis," I said, "look out for a place to land 
and we'll find where we are, then after dinner we'll 
fly on home." 

I had no more than gotten the words out of my 
mouth when a machine gun started to fire at us, 
again using tracer ammunition. I was convinced that 
it was all a mistake and that when they saw who 
we really were they would quit, so, I told Davis 
to tilt the plane and show the colors of our cocarde 
as the weather was not clear and any one might 
make a similar mistake. 

Our own aviation never, under any circumstances, 
approached our balloons suddenly, for the reason 
that the Germans one time used some allied cap- 
tured planes in the Chateau-Thierry offensive, and 
with the French colors on their cocarde, approached 
one of our balloons and, unmolested, burned it. 
Since then all balloons had adopted the policy of 
firing on any machine which came suddenly out of 



174 LUCK ON THE WING 

the clouds toward them. I was positive that this 
was the case here. Suddenly other guns vigorously 
began to take up the firing and by the time I saw 
the foreboding black, German Cross painted on the 
side of the sausage, the whole balloon machine gun 
crews had us well in hand. "When we went down on 
the first balloon I was pretty well convinced that it 
was all up with us, but this time there was no doubt 
about it, for we had lost far too many of our best 
pursuit pilots in attacking balloons at low altitudes 
for me to even hope otherwise, and our pursuit 
planes were smaller targets, were faster and more 
maneuverable. What chance in the world, I thought, 
has a lubberly, two-place observation plane in a hole 
like this when few of the pursuit planes even ever 
emerge with their lives? 

Here I again hand it all to Davis, for with a 
bravery and grit that I have seldom seen equaled, 
and a skill that was uncanny, he did everything 
imaginable with that plane, but wisest of all he again 
headed with the wind, our only chance to get out of 
the mess. That second in banking into the wind 
was actually the longest of my life — the ground had 
surely anticipated it for we were truly the apex of 
the cone of lead and fire from the circular base of 
guns surrounding the balloon bed. The plane was 
almost a screen where so many bullets had perforated 
it. I heard a snap with a dismal twanging sound. 
One flying wire had been already cut by the bar- 
rage, but Davis kept right on twisting the boat as 
if nothing had happened. 



DOWN AND OUT AND IN 175 

We still had life — something for which I had al- 
most ceased to hope. Like persecuted souls weak 
from exhaustion, but strong in determination, we 
went on, still with the wind unrelentlessly driving us 
farther into Germany. Already we had been up 
about two hours and the thought occurred to me 
that we would soon be out of gasoline. We could 
not take another chance. My calculation, which later 
turned out to be accurate, was that we were then 
about fifteen kilometers from the line. 

The known splendid liaison of the Boche was al- 
ready in action ; this we well knew and undoubtedly 
several German planes were already up after us. 
The solution was simple. There were only two 
things we could possibly do. We knew the wind 
direction when we left France, so, we could pick up 
our direction from the smoke from locomotives, 
chimneys and the like and fly below the clouds to- 
ward the line. At best the condition of our plane 
would but permit elementary maneuvering and at 
that we stood but little chance of getting through 
the continual machine gun fire at such constant low 
altitude. Then, too, it was certain that if we kepf 
below the clouds on such a course we would soon have 
enemy planes hot on our trail, although, personally, 
I thought we would never get through two more 
minutes of the gun firing even with our plane in 
the best condition. The alternative was to land, 
destroy the plane and try to escape. It all ran 
through my mind like a flash. I thought of Davis. 
I admit I thought of myself. One was justifiable 



176 LUCK ON THE WING 

life for the reason that the destruction of the plane, 
at least, would be guaranteed, while if we were shot 
down we would both die in the crash and the Boche 
would get the salvage and design of the plane. The 
impelling fighting chance of the second proposition 
was enough. There was no more hesitation. 

"Davis," I shouted, "can you pick up the direc- 
tion from the smoke on the ground?" 

He looked around doubtfully. 

"I'll try," he more doubtfully replied. 

"All right, head into the wind again — beneath the 
clouds. This is our last chance. Fly straight into 
the wind. We will have to scrap for our lives, but 
luck is with us." 

Nodding his head with characteristic determina- 
tion, he swiftly steered the bus into the wind. For 
several minutes the combined fire of anti-aircraft 
artillery and machine guns played upon us. I will 
not attempt to describe the horrors of those minutes 
that seemed years — how we lived through it I do 
not know. A piece of my tourelle was shot away 
and my wireless reel was torn completely off. I 
could hear the plane whine in its flight, the broken 
wires even dolefully singing our requiem. Through 
it all the motor was not hurt — it was turning like a 
top. Indeed, it seemed just like the last moments 
of the poor fowl which, with its neck wrung, will 
continue to flop about. Veritably it seemed we were 
flopping — it was the wonderful Davis doing his best 
to dodge the myriads of deathly bullets coming at 
us from all angles. 



DOWN AND OUT AND IN 177 

Then suddenly all became quiet. The machine 
guns and the archies had for some reason stopped 
their firing. I had been there before — I knew. The 
time had come. Looking over to the right I saw 
what I expected — four German Fokkers had already- 
taken off the field and were coming up after us. We 
could even see their airdrome and other planes ready 
to take off if necessary. It was a sad day. I had 
been in scraps before but such odds as these had 
not faced me. This was, indeed, foreign — ten miles 
from home, about out of gas, with a bunged-up plane 
and yet forced to stand there with hands on the 
guns and patiently await the seconds until they 
steadily climbed up to get us. I wanted to throw 
up the sponge in the worst way ; it seemed but use- 
less murder of the two of us, for there could be no 
possible chance to live through it. On the other 
hand, we might get one or even two of them, so it 
was the big game — the call of chance. We must 
give combat — now to break the word to Davis. I 
laughed hysterically. 

" Davis, " I called, "have you ever had a fight V 

Puzzled as to the significance of this question he 
turned around and answered, "No. Never." 

"Well," and I again laughed for no reason in 
the world, "you are going to have one now." Of 
course, the airplane did a strange shimmy, after 
which I continued, "There are four Boche coming 
up to the right rear. Fly straight ahead, and don't 
worry. Only keep me in a position to fire." 

Davis said nothing, but turning around he calmly 



178 LUCK ON THE WING 

eyed the oncoming Germans, then I saw his jaws set 
in fierce determination and without another sign of 
emotion he directed his attention to the damaged 
plane. 

While the Huns were in formation and at twelve 
hundred feet, I leveled the guns and fired a burst of 
thirty rounds in order to scatter them for I have 
found that the Boche is not half so bold when he 
knows he is seen. It had the effect I wanted; they 
scattered and began firing at me from about one 
thousand feet, hoping to get us by a chance shot, or 
better, of frightening us into landing. They kept 
this position for several minutes. I did not fire an- 
other shot; I could ill afford to waste a single cart- 
ridge and ever hope to make the lines. Seeing that 
we intended to fight to a finish they separated; one 
plane came from the left, the other three from the 
right, and attempted to close in all at the same time. 
At nine hundred feet they again began to fire, and 
steadily close in. Still I did not pull the triggers. 
At my reticence they became bolder and when the 
right three got to about six hundred feet from me 
I carefully leveled my right gun and turned loose a 
well-directed burst of about fifty rounds. To me the 
real fight had now begun for soon they would be at 
close range where real fatalities occur. The lad at 
my left required my attention so I swung the 
tourelle and carefully laying the bead, I pulled the 
trigger. It did not fire. Thinking perhaps the 
locking mechanism had been caught by the sudden 
swinging of the guns, I reached down to pull it into 



DOWN AND OUT AND IN 179 

place. The lock was O.K. It was nothing else than 
a plain jam. I did not feel so bad for I still had 
my other gun untried and there was sufficient am- 
munition yet for a good fight. So, as the left plane 
closed in I aimed with unerring accuracy; and I was 
sure I had him unless something unusual happened. 
Something unusual did happen. The left gun fired 
about seven shots and stopped. It was no time for 
child's play — team work was the one thing necessary 
to save the situation. Davis realized it, for the mo- 
ment the guns stopped firing he knew something was 
all wrong, and he took up the fight by a series of 
remarkable acrobatics, in a vain effort to get his own 
guns into play. 

After many strenuous efforts, by brute force I suc- 
ceeded in clearing the jam. At least, I thought I 
did, although things happened so fast from then on 
that the gun never had a chance. Amidst the violent 
jerking of the plane I frantically attempted to aim, 
then there was no more jerking — the plane seemed to 
be falling on its side toward earth and glancing 
forward I saw flames. There was only one solution — 
they had not only gotten Davis and we were rapidly 
falling to our death, but they had also set us afire. 
There were but the fractions of a second, and then 
the crash, for I was powerless — I did not know how 
to fly and, furthermore, the plane was not fitted 
with a dual control. A multiplicity of active and 
concrete thoughts took form in my brain in that 
short space of time from the beginning of the descent 
to the crash. I closed my eyes — the horror of it 



180 LUCK ON THE WING 

was too much for me. It was bad enough to face 
certain death, but the thought of burning to death 
closed the picture. 

The plane struck and the next thing I knew we 
had stopped; at least, I thought I knew it. To be 
perfectly frank I was so scared I did not know 
whether I was dead or alive. But, looking out, I 
saw Davis already on the ground; Davis, who I 
was sure had been killed. This brought me to my 
real senses and in a second I was out of the plane 
and running top-speed toward the crest of a hill 
which was directly in front of us. Fifty feet to my 
left and running in the same direction was Davis, 
and swooping down from the skies, at an altitude 
of from thirty to fifty feet, the four Fokkers con- 
tinued to fire upon us. This brought me still closer 
to the realization that we were still very much alive, 
though how long we would be I did not know. I 
would run along about five yards and then fall on my 
stomach, then jump up and scramble on for another 
five yards and slide, the idea being that the planes, 
sweeping down, could very well judge our speed 
while running steadily, but when we stopped sud- 
denly they could not quickly dive their planes to 
shoot straight down upon us, for in so doing they 
would crash headlong on the ground. 

The hill was not steep, but at the same time it 
was not easy running. I think I beat Davis to the 
top, even at that. As I got there I will never forget 
the sight that met^my eyes. Approaching us from 
the other side was the proverbial mob, coming out to 



DOWN AND OUT AND IN 181 

get us. There were officers on horseback, officers on 
foot, soldiers, men, women and children with every 
means of conveyance, from artillery trucks on down 
to the antique oxen. There must have been five hun- 
dred of them. Of course, the fight had easily been 
followed from the ground and I suppose they were 
all anxious to come out to see what was left of us. 
Believe me, I had real stage fright when I saw that 
crowd, so, I turned around and as I started to run 
back down the hill to my surprise I saw that the 
airplane had not burned. 

There is one hard and fast rule that all flyers 
are taught to follow and that is when shot down in 
enemy territory, their duty is to burn the plane at 
all costs, for otherwise the enemy not only gets the 
airplane itself, but also the latest designs, inven- 
tions and improvements which are a hundred times 
more valuable. 

" Davis/' I yelled at the top of my voice, as I 
started running toward the plane. Instantaneously 
he saw and followed. It was a bad trip back — the 
Fokkers, surmising our mission, came down to where 
they practically skimmed the ground, absolutely in- 
tent upon taking our lives. 

When we finally reached the plane I was puffing 
like a steam engine, for my lungs were raw from 
exhaustion as I still had on this heavy flying suit 
which covered my entire body. The Fokkers were 
able to very well judge their shots for they made 
it extremely unpleasant. 

"A match! A match! A match!" I kept calling, 



182 LUCK ON THE WING 

running around and not knowing what to do. Davis 
hauled forth a box with about eight in it. We had 
lost our heads absolutely for we were too excited 
to remember that we had such a thing as gasoline 
on board. Jumping around like a pair of ducks on 
a hot stove, we blindly tried to light the fabric on 
the wings which through the expenditure of a million 
dollars on experimentation had been made practically 
fireproof on the surface by the application of non- 
inflammable varnish. We were too dense to take 
any cognizance of the fact that they continually 
failed to burn, so, we went ahead making repeated 
attempts to light the wings. In a minute the last 
match was gone. There was no hope. I felt like 
breaking down and crying like a baby. The right 
side under the motor was still smoldering from the 
flames in the air, which had been caused by an in- 
cendiary bullet striking the carburetor, but had been 
extinguished by the violent side-slipping of the plane, 
just as a match is smothered out by being swept 
through the air. Then Davis had a brilliant idea. 

"Hell," he said, "We've got gasoline." And he 
jumped up into the pilot's pit and broke the main 
gasoline lead and in a second gasoline was splut- 
tering all over the plane like a bubbling fountain. 

"Look for another match!" I cried to Davis, and 
although he knew he had no more, he began to throw 
things out of his pockets right and left. Among 
these things there fell a smudge cigarette lighter. 
These instruments were devised by the French on 
account of tliPir extreme shortage of matches. The 



DOWN AND OUT AND IN 183 

gadget consists of a tiny steel wheel, which strikes 
a piece of flint, which in turn ignites the smudge. 
t The only trouble with these things is that they do 
not always work. However, when this fell before 
me, it was Heaven itself, for I made a high dive and 
grasping it, began to strike the wheel. It would 
not ignite. Running back and forth, trying to get 
the smudge to burn, I began to strike it, pray over 
it, and do everything else. My kingdom, such as it 
was, for a light. 

"Soak it in gas! Use your bean. Let me have 
it," cried Davis, and he snatched it out of my hand 
and soaked it with gas, but still it would not work. 
Disgusted, he threw it on the ground with a vehement 
oath, and took his spite out by trying to kick the 
rubber tire off one of the landing wheels. Snatching 
it up again I struck it sharply against a piece of the 
metal cowling on the motor with the hope that by 
some miracle this hasty remedy might help it. It 
was just luck, for something did the work. Whether 
it was hitting it on the metal or not, I do not guess, 
but when I gave it a brisk turn it bursted into flame, 
and my hands also being covered with gasoline, began 
to burn, too. I dropped it like a piece of hot steel 
and Davis snatched it up and threw it into the gaso- 
line soaked cockpit. Soon the $20,000 plane was a 
roaring furnace. It was like the last act of a big 
motion picture — the criminals at bay were fighting 
for time against the mob and like the hardboiled 
leader of the villains laughs in the face of his pur- 
suers while he goes to his self-inflicted death rather 



184 LUCK ON THE WING 

than deliver himself, so I turned around, knowing 
there was no escape from the mob, determined to die 
in the wreckage. Already Davis was beating it across 
the field to the left, crying ''Come on! Come on!" 
and so, while I did not have much pep left I started 
to run toward a sort of rude embankment over toward 
the left center, which was not over two hundred yards 
away. Fortunately the burning plane momentarily 
threw the crowd back, for they knew if there were 
bombs aboard they would soon explode. 

The heavy flying suit was causing me trouble, for 
I was stumbling through the mud like an intoxicated 
elephant, but even at that I am inclined, now, to 
think that I beat the intercollegiate record for the 
one hundred yards dash. As I rushed around this 
embankment, I hit something which landed me on 
the ground in a puddle of mud. "What I hit was 
a horse, which was one of five being ridden by four 
officers and one sergeant, who had come from another 
nearby village to get us. These horses stepped all 
over and around me, and I thought at the time 
how ironical it was to have endured and lived through 
the hardships of the morning and have my life 
crushed out by a horse's hoofs. It was the same dis- 
gustingly disgraceful death that I have always 
feared since the war, namely of being hit by a Ford 
automobile on a quiet, country road after coming 
through the war in safety. However, the horses 
showed true horse sense and did not step directly 
upon me. Of course, I stopped. I was already 
stopped — if not by this sudden impetus, then surely 



DOWN AND OUT AND IN 185 

from sheer exhaustion. I got up literally covered 
with mud. 

The senior officer of the party was a true Hun, who 
had undoubtedly been drinking, for I do not believe 
otherwise any one, regardless of nationality, could 
have been so cold-blooded and terrible. He could 
not recognize that I was American as my flying suit 
hid my uniform, so, he spoke up in French: 

"Qui de vous a brule l'avion, et ou est votre com- 
rade ?" I quite well understood his French, but I 
felt it would be better policy to say nothing, so I 
looked absolutely blank. Again he demanded who 
burned the airplane and where was my comrade, 
which ultimatum he sharpened by a threatening 
"Vite! Vite!" I realized that something was neces- 
sary on my part, for deafness would be a very lame 
excuse for any flyer, so, I told him in English that 
I did not understand him. 

"Ah," he smiled in delight, finding his prize had 
been even greater than he had expected, "then you 
are English or American. Which?" 

He said this in perfect English, which upset my 
whole scheme of reticence, for it did not occur to 
me that he spoke still a third language. I said noth- 
ing, but looked at the ground, contemplating my 
reply. 

"American or British?" he demanded. 

I was proud of my nationality, so, looking up, I 
threw out my chest and exclaimed, "I'm American." 

I expected him to immediately recognize the 
strength of my citizenship, just as the wise old Bibli- 



186 LUCK ON THE WING 

cal character, whoever he was, got out of a tight hole 
by saying that he was a Roman. I had a surprise 
awaiting me, however, for he gave me a cynical laugh 
that gave him an opportunity to divert from the 
subject in mind. 

"So you are an American, are you?" he sneer- 
ingly went on. "Well, I've lived in your America 
ten years, myself, and I know you all. You're a 
rotten bunch of lying hypocrites." 

Strange as it may seem I did not see fit to take 
issue with him under the circumstances, so, he went 
on with another little round of abuse of the Amer- 
icans that made my blood boil, but again I failed to 
go to the bat for my country. Thinking he had 
sufficiently riled me, he started on the subject of 
more vital importance. 

"Now, which one of you burned that plane?" he 
sharply demanded. 

Again I said nothing, but I thought a lot, for since 
he was getting so individualistic about it, I was 
convinced that we were in a pretty serious situation ; 
yet I knew I was going to have to answer that ques- 
tion. I was hoping that if Davis was caught he 
would say that he did it and I knew that Davis was 
human, and was hoping that I would say that I 
did it. 

He interrupted my silent study. "Are you going 
to answer?" he growled. 

What would I say to get by ? I decided to spar. 

"It burned itself," was my brilliant repartee. 



DOWN AND OUT AND IN 187 

" Don't lie to me," he hissed. "It might have 
been afire when you started down, but we saw you 
go back and burn it." 

"Well, if you saw me go back and burn it, why 
did you ask me who did it?" I unthoughtedly re- 
torted, and then I was sorry for if at first I thought 
him fierce, he had now become an irate demon. 

"You did do it then, eh?" he said persuasively, 
as he slowly looked around to his companions in order 
that they might bear witness to my confession. 

' * What 's the use, ' ' I thought to myself, so, I 
looked him squarely in the eyes and said, "Yes, I 
did it." 

"Ah!" and he again looked around, shaking his 
head with intermingled scorn and pride that he, the 
Prussian, had been able to bulldoze an American. 
"Didn't you know that the moment that plane hit 
the ground, it became German property and that you 
wilfully destroyed German material?" 

I most emphatically told him that I did not know 
it, for while I convicted myself on my previous con- 
fession, I didn't intend to sign my own decree of 
execution. He assumed a slightly conciliatory 
attitude. 

"Now," he continued, "where is your partner, 
or comrade?" 

I told him that I did not know. 

"Oh, yes you do," he argued, coaxingly. 

After a little dickering dispute, I looked him. 
squarely in the eyes and said, "I do not know." 



188 LUCK ON THE WING 

Then he became fierce again. "Don't lie to me," 
he snarled in rage. "You do know and you are 
going to tell me." 

I became pretty well convinced that my days were 
done for, so consequences momentarily did not mat- 
ter. It was more than I could stand, for this was 
a matter that not only insulted my character as a 
soldier, but my integrity as a man — that he should 
call upon me to divulge the hiding place of my 
friend and my comrade-in-arms. In spite of the 
effort to control my temper, it flared up like a tire- 
pressure indicator and in a daring attitude, I ex- 
claimed, "I don't know and if I did know I would 
not tell you." 

He flew into a white rage. "Is that so?" and he 
quickly reached back to his hip and pulled out a 
Leugger, the most deadly German automatic pistol, 
and with fiery eyes he put it right at my heart, the 
barrel even touching my clothing. I admit I in- 
wardly swooned; in fact, I almost fainted for, while 
all the time I thought I was going eventually to be 
killed, I had no idea that there was going to be any 
snappy action like this. He meant business; there 
was no argument about that. His very attitude and 
the decisiveness with which he drew out the gun and 
the way he put his finger on the trigger convinced 
me that to spar was to die. If there was any chance 
at all, it lay in silence. He must have time to cool 
down or something else must intervene; so, like a 
weak sister I looked at him, just hoping. 

"Are you going to talk or not?" he began quietly 



DOWN AND OUT AND IN 189 

and I have never heard words uttered more de- 
cisively. I knew quite well that Davis had gone over 
to the left. One thing was certain, while above all 
things else I would not tell where he was, at the 
same time I was not exactly prepared to die. Since I 
was to die some time it could just as well be later, 
so, looking over to the right, in exactly the opposite 
direction in which Davis had gone, I noticed a clump 
of trees about three hundred yards away. In an 
attitude indicating that I was only telling to save 
my own life, I pointed to the clump and breathlessly 
whispered, "Over there." 

He hastily gave some directions in German, and 
leaving me with one officer and the sergeant, he and 
the other two officers hurriedly galloped off toward 
the location I had pointed out. During this little 
entertainment quite a crowd had gathered around 
and as the tenseness was relieved, they immediately 
began ejaculating and mumbling in great fashion, 
completely surrounding me. Looking through the 
crowd my gaze was following the horses and sur- 
mising what my next move would be when they 
reached there and found I had deliberately lied. 

When they were almost to the spot I had desig- 
nated, we suddenly heard quite a noticeable scramble 
over to the left and looking over that way I saw 
that they had caught Davis and he was being es- 
corted toward town, followed by a portion of the 
mob. Hearing the same noise, the arrogant Prussian 
stopped his steed and wheeling around, saw Davis 
had been caught in just exactly the opposite direc- 



190 LUCK ON THE WING 

tion from that to which I had pointed. He knew 
instantly that I had deliberately pranked him at 
pistol's point. In Western cowboy fashion he gave 
his horse the spurs and drawing his Leugger back 
over his shoulder came madly galloping toward me. 
I knew what was going to happen. There was not a 
chance in the world; and the crowd around me also 
knew what was going to happen because they made 
a clearing just as the gamblers miraculously dis- 
appear when some one pulls a revolver in the game. 
Standing alone I awaited the inevitable. 

As the fatal moment approached — suddenly there 
came from somewhere a sharp voice and from the 
crowd there rode forth another officer with a flowing 
purplish-gray cloak about him, the kind German 
officers sometimes wear when mounted, crying 
"Halte! Halte!" or something similar. It was a 
voice of command. The onrushing Prussian, riding 
past at his terrific momentum, dismounted and 
saluted. In a fast and furious manner this superior 
officer spoke to him in a well-modulated voice, but 
with a manner and expression, which, though I could 
not understand a word of German, I quite well knew 
was nothing else than a plain balling-out. 

After about three minutes, in which our would-be 
assassin saluted ten or twelve times, he put his gun in 
its holster, re-mounted his horse and slinkingly rode 
away. Then this superior officer addressed something 
generally to the crowd, in reply to which one sol- 
dier stepped out, saluted smartly and after some 
directions by the officer, proceeded to explain to me, 



DOWN AND OUT AND IN 191 

in broken English, that the officer wanted to apolo- 
gize for the uncalled for conduct of the first German 
officer. After a little hesitation, I was surrounded 
by a proper German escort and marched over toward 
Davis — going where and for what I did not know — 
but trembling like a cur dog with delirium tremens — 
too afraid to be frightened. 



IX 

THE COURT OP INQUIRY 

LIKE many other brazen Americans I felt 
throughout the war that in spite of the loss of 
my friends all about me, and the precautions re- 
peatedly urged, that I was the one bird, who, alone, 
was exempt from mishap and misfortune. Undoubt- 
edly the good fortune that always attended me 
caused me to adopt the viewpoint that my good luck 
was perpetual. Well, as a matter of fact, I still 
think that way to-day. 

Such a thing as my ever becoming a prisoner of war 
in Germany was absolutely foreign to me. It had 
not even interested me, so, I had paid very little 
attention to the reports on the treatment of prisoners 
and I honestly did not know whether the prisoners 
were slowly starved to death or killed for some act 
which they had or had not individually committed, 
or what not. It was terrible at best. At any rate, 
I was convinced that it was bad enough that one 
could well afford to be desperate in taking chances 
to escape. So, when I finally, in spite of my con- 
fidence in my continued good luck, was taken prisoner 
on September 30, 1918, I immediately decided that I 
would escape no matter what the cost. 

192 



THE COURT OF INQUIRY 193 

Upon being captured Davis and I were first 
marched down to a nearby airdrome — the den of 
our captors. There they dragged out a German 
automobile, which had steel, spring wheels. A very 
young and fat German boy, who, by the way, was 
an officer, climbed in first and told us to follow. Of 
course, we did; and soon we were off for some- 
where. This youngster was a genuine pighead — he 
tried to be a Hun but did not know how and re- 
minded me very much of a newly made Second 
Lieutenant. Like all other German officers he had 
the Iron Cross, which he wore complete and as he 
spoke a little English, I decided that the wisest move 
for me, was to find out just how much. 

I had a hunch that the kid had probably just 
recently gotten his Iron Cross and might be glad to 
make a few remarks at the proper opening. So, 
pointing to the Cross and speaking rapidly, I asked, 
"What does that signify ?" 

He did not get me. His answer was a cool stare 
as if I had transgressed sacred laws. So, I again 
smiled and tried this time very slowly, "What is 
that?" 

"Ach," and his flabby cheeks shook like a mold of 
jelly on a frosty morning, as we bounced along, 
"dot iss der Deutschen Iron Cross." 

"Oh, my! The Iron Cross," and I smiled with 
evident pride at our association. "You are very 
valiant." 

The youngster was flattered by my expression, 
though he did not grasp the words. This was what 



194 LUCK ON THE WING 

I was after. I could now converse safely with Davis, 
my pilot, if I spoke fast enough. So, turning to 
Davis I started to talk, but the kid rose up in all 
his dignity of rank and called a halt. In painful 
English he told us that communication between 
prisoners was absolutely "verboten." We, of course, 
acquiesced most gracefully. I wanted to ask Davis 
especially if he had yet admitted burning the plane, 
because I already had admitted that I did it myself 
and if there was any one to be killed for the offense 
I could see no reason for both of us dying. This 
was information so vital that it had to be gotten to 
Davis in spite of any rulings of any school kid, 
German officer accompanying us. At the same time 
it was not my intention to purposely antagonize 
our friend at this particular time, so with a very 
sweet smile I turned to this German and looking 
directly into his eyes as if speaking only to him, I 
rapidly, but convincingly orated: 

" Davis, while I'm talking to this distinguished 
young Prussian, looking him straight in the eye, and 
I am talking so fast he has no idea what I'm saying, 
I want to ask you an important question and I want 
you to answer it right away and look at him as if 
you were speaking to him when you answer it, for 
he can speak about as much of our language as a 
clam. These Germans claimed that when that plane 
hit the ground it became German property and that 
in burning it, we have wilfully destroyed German 
property and the penalty is probably death. Now 
I've already admitted that I burned it, so, if they 



THE COURT OF INQUIRY 195 

ask you who destroyed it you must say that I did 
it, in order that we may not both get stuck for the 
same offense.' ' 

Meanwhile I was making motions with my hands, 
shoulders, face, brow, mouth, nose, and ears, and 
looking directly at the German officer, as if I were 
performing for his benefit. The kid was dumb- 
founded — things were happening fast. Davis played 
his part like a trained actor and began to address 
this German, speaking very rapidly, and in a simi- 
lar manner, while the poor German was shaking 
his head and hopelessly crying, "You are talking 
too fast; I do not hear you; I cannot understand 
what you say." 

But Davis told me that I was a damned fool, 
that he had told them he had burned the plane and 
that if there was going to be any suffering done we 
would both do it together. Believe me, that boy's 
actions all through our experience endeared him to 
me forever, as a brave man and an honest, genuine 
fellow. However, when we got that one across our 
first custodian, I felt pretty much relieved for a 
great burden had been lifted from my mind. After 
all, I guess, there is a great deal of comfort in com- 
panionship even in trouble and misery. 

We shot along those roads on that steel-wheeled bus 
at a remarkable speed. Quite soon we were at Mont- 
medy, which was the headquarters of the 5th German 
Army. Undoubtedly here we were to be interviewed 
and sure enough we were taken into the large room 
in the front of the headquarters building, but, to 



196 LUCK ON THE WING 

our great surprise we were left for a few moments 
by ourselves as the force was out to lunch. I im- 
mediately threw off my flying " teddy bear" and 
hastily ran through my pockets and in spite of 
standing orders for flyers never to have written 
communications on their person, while flying over 
the lines, I found one order which would have given 
a great deal of aid and comfort to the enemy. I 
took this order, which was on very thin paper, and 
rapidly folding it, taking a match from the table I 
lighted a cigarette and then burned the order. The 
few other things I had were not important, but at 
that I wanted to destroy everything. I had thrown 
my map in the burning plane, so my conscience was 
clear that I had done my duty all around as far as 
I was able. We were quite sure that the room had 
audiphones so we said nothing. As I was about to 
throw such other stuff as I had in the stove, the kid 
came in. I simply slipped my hand in my pocket and 
looked innocent. Then a very suave, English-speak- 
ing, German Lieutenant came in and told us that 
he had been a prisoner of war in Russia and had 
just been released; that he felt sorry for all the 
prisoners of war, and wanted to tell us not to believe 
everything we had heard about the German atrocities 
and that since we were Americans we would be well 
taken care of, fed, etc., for Germany wanted America 
to feel that America and * ' Deutschland ' ' were the 
best of friends. His line was so smooth that I was 
sure that he told the same gag to everyone else, re- 
gardless of nationality. This intelligence officer was 



THE COURT OP INQUIRY 197 

a very smooth article for instead of talking shop, he 
stated that if we would be so kind as to give him 
such things as we had in our pockets there would be 
no necessity to search us. By this time, he was 
welcome to everything I had on me. Then he told 
us that he wanted us to be his guests at tea that 
afternoon at five o'clock. We had no choice in the 
matter, so, told him we would be very pleased to 
accept his kind invitation. 

It was about one o'clock then, and the kid took 
us in our steel-wheeled "lizzy" to the prison camp, 
which was to be our new home. I must say that 
ostensibly they treated us lovely in every way, and 
outside of the fact that our home was not in the same 
class with Riverside Drive or Orange Grove Avenue, 
it wasn't so bad. We were incarcerated without 
ceremony and the kid left us after many assurances 
of his kind offices. No one came in to attend to us, 
so, I finally pounded on the door until some one did 
come. It was the interpreter, who informed us that 
we were too late for anything to eat as only enough 
food was prepared for those on hand and they d : d 
not know we were coming, whereupon Davis and I sat 
down to wait until night for something real to eat, 
meanwhile anticipating, with a great deal of pleas- 
ure, our tea we were to have in the afternoon. 

As I sat there on that old bench I really had my 
first opportunity for quiet reflection. In spite of the 
convincing environments I could not bring myself to 
believe that I was actually a prisoner of war. 

This camp at Montmedy was some place. It was 



198 LUCK ON THE WING 

a rectangular affair, inclosing about an acre. 
Around this rectangle was a very heavy barbed-wire 
fence about twelve feet high, and about four feet 
within this was another big high fence and within 
this inclosure, at the four corners, were four sepa- 
rate buildings, each of which was surrounded by two 
huge wire fences, similar to those on the outside. 
In one of these houses lived the lord of the domain, 
the Director of the Prison Camp, a Sergeant in the 
German Army; in the second was the kitchen 
where they prepared the luscious food for the pris- 
oners, and in which there was also located the 
quarters for the guards, where they lived, slept and 
smoked their German tobacco; in the third building 
there were bunks for enlisted men who were taken 
prisoners; and in the fourth were the Non- 
commissioned and Commissioned officers who were 
prisoners, and in this last named building were 
Davis and I. 

"We had been so down in the mouth upon actually 
entering this prison camp that we had little to say. 
Finally I arose from my old bench, shook myself like 
a dog after his nap, and in a graveyard tone of voice 
said, "Davis, we're prisoners of war," and we wept 
on each other's shoulders like sob sisters. When we 
got tired of that I walked to the door which was 
solid, turned the latch and, since no one interfered, 
walked on outside. 

Walking about I too"k occasion to examine the 
heavy barbed wire surrounding us. There was 
nothing else to do, so, I kept walking along, glancing 



THE COURT OF INQUIRY 199 

at the wire. It looked rather solid and was sunk 
rather deep in the ground. It was not encouraging. 
Then I had a real treat for as I walked along I saw 
a bunch of American doughboy prisoners, most of 
them privates, part of them barefooted, being es- 
corted by the camp guard. Believe me, they looked 
good. I hollered to them and asked them how long 
they had been in and they answered they had been 
taken only a few days before, so, I told them I had 
been taken only that morning. In great eagerness, 
they demanded to know how the drive was coming 
along. 

"Oh, boy," I yelled as they passed along, "we've 
sure got the Hun on the run." 

About that time the German Sergeant Interpreter 
rushed out — "The Hell you have," he madly 
screamed. "Get inside." I took orders from a 
Sergeant. 

He came after me and I didn't know whether he 
was going to browbeat me or not, but I had a strong 
hunch that it would be an advantageous idea to 
change the subject, so, I started to talk about what 
we were going to have to eat and he again surely 
informed me that we were too late, that they had 
not made any preparations for us and that we would 
not get anything to eat until that night. That sub- 
ject apparently didn't interest him. I tried another. 

"Where's the barber shop?" I asked 

Here was a new field for him. He asked us if 
we would like to buy a razor and some soap and 
some cigarettes. The old b<w liked a lUtle money, 



200 LUCK ON THE WING 

that was clear. Here was a chance to eat perhaps, 
so, I encouraged his mercenary inclinations. 

"No," I went on, "but I would gladly buy a ham 
sandwich. ' ' 

He was taken back aghast at my not knowing it 
was impossible to obtain food for love or money, 
except as rationed by the Government. So, I thought 
it would be a good idea to play up to the old boy, 
and smiling, I told him, "Sure, I'll buy a razor." 
We gave him some French money to get changed 
into German marks and after a while he brought 
our purchase — a very small piece of pure, lye soap, 
which we used for both shaving and washing, and 
which cost us exactly eighty-five cents. It was about 
the size of the individual cakes of soap you get in a 
hotel. I realized that the Germans must be quite 
short on soap for this stuff left our faces in about 
the same condition as one might expect from a mas- 
sage with Dutch Cleanser — indeed, this was the real 
dutch cleanser. 

In a little while an orderly came around and 
brought us our beds, which consisted of a couple of 
old blankets and one dilapidated mattress filled with 
wood shavings. Then he brought some wood and 
made a fire in the very heavy brick stow. We were 
so chilly that when he made the fire I kept on feed- 
ing it in order to get warm. It was not very long 
until the orderly came back again and we persuaded 
him to get us a little pack of cards, whereupon Davis 
and I sat down and played Solitaire and Casino, and 
meanwhile we took turns at getting up and putting 



THE COURT OF INQUIRY 201 

another little stick of wood on the fire. By about 
four o'clock we had used up all the wood, so I went 
out and hollered to the orderly, but he did nothing 
but shake his head. The sergeant came and I told 
him that we wanted some more wood. It did not 
concern him, for he said that we had used our allow- 
ance for twenty-four hours and could have no more 
until noon the next day. I began to swear and asked 
him why he had not told us that instead of freely 
putting it in there as if we could have all we wanted. 
He admitted it might have been more prudent to tell 
us, but at the same time he wouldn't give us any 
more wood. After all he wasn't a bad old duck, for 
he wasn't cruel — he was just overimbued with this 
old, German, military regime of austerity which be- 
lieved in the letter of the law absolutely. In other 
words, it had his goat. 

A little while later on the same steel-wheeled bus 
came rolling up and in it were three immaculately 
groomed officers with nice shoulder-straps, purplish- 
gray cloaks, and everything. All spoke perfect Eng- 
lish, and as they were introduced they stood rigidly 
at attention and gave a snappy salute. The leader 
spoke up in the most elegant English and said per- 
haps we were not so unfortunate after all, as we 
would be well taken care of by the Germans; that 
they were German-Americans who had come to Ger- 
many at the outbreak of the war, long before 
America had entered, and since they had not heard 
from their folks for a long time they thought perhaps 
we might be from their section of the country and 



202 LUCK ON THE WING 

could give them some idea as to the welfare of their 
kinsmen. This did not sound fishy to me ; at least, not 
so far as I could see, so we did not lie to them — I told 
them that the German people as a whole were being 
well taken care of in America, being interned in well- 
kept detention camps, and that no harshness was per- 
mitted by the Government except in cases of spies or 
traitors, in which case they were arbitrarily shot. I 
did not know whether that affected any of their kins- 
men or not, but at the word "shot" they all looked 
at one another in a very sickly way. 

After some remarks about the awful weather they 
started to leave, the leader remarking that they just 
wanted to come out and pay their respects and see 
that we were getting along all right, and that if at 
any time we wanted anything just to let them know. 
My mind was not on these empty formalities — it was 
on the fact that we had a chance to provide for our 
own welfare, so I took them at their word. 

1 ' That is so kind of you, ' ' I smiled. ' ' There are 
several little things you might do for us now. We 
would like to have some wood to keep us warm for 
the rest of the night, we would like to have some- 
thing to eat, we would like to have some better 
blankets to sleep on, we would like to have a better 
mattress and would like to have some fresh water, 
and if it would not be too much bother we would like 
to have that slop pan outside cleaned up so that it 
will not smell so bad — Oh, yes," I went on, "we 
would also like to have some exercise and some books 



THE COURT OP INQUIRY 203 

or newspapers to read, and I, personally, would like 
to write a letter to my folks." 

They looked somewhat dazed, so I ended my modest 
requests and said, "I think that is all we need right 
now. ' ' 

They again looked at one another in a funny man- 
ner, as if to indicate that I was not lacking in the 
power of expressing my wants. I thought their part- 
ing sympathy was all bunk, but surprisingly enough 
they gave instructions to the sergeant to give us 
some more wood and promised that they would send 
us some newspapers. When it came to eats, they 
balked. 

"Food is something," they explained, "over which 
we have no control." 

"But, as a matter of fact," the leader went on, 
"you really would not have time to eat anything, as 
you are soon to go to headquarters to meet the Staff, 
and you will undoubtedly have tea there." 

They left and after a while the tin-wheeled bus 
came again and under proper escort we went back to 
Montmedy. There we had "tea," which consisted of 
tea, about which the Germans constantly reminded 
us that it was exceedingly hard to get on account of 
the blockade, and that it was, indeed, a decided 
luxury and that we should appreciate that we were 
being served real tea. The rest of the "tea" was 
German war bread, which the Intelligence Officer ad- 
mitted was bad for the stomach and was much better 
toasted, and then we had diminutive portions of con- 



204 LUCK ON THE WING 

fiture and butter, served individually, and as a finale 
we had cigarettes and sugar. They also offered us 
some liquor, which neither of us accepted, for we 
realized that the time of our interrogation was at 
hand, and since the usual trend of liquor is toward 
the tongue it was better not to imbibe, for we didn't 
want to talk any more than was absolutely necessary. 
They did not insist on our breaking the water wagon 
vows, and it's a good thing they didn't, for while I 
cannot speak for Davis, I, personally, know that my 
nervous and physical condition was such that I 
could not have withstood a great deal of persuasion 
on such sensitive subjects. 

In the midst of our "tea bacchanal" the door 
opened and we saw standing before us a full-fledged 
German aviator, whose face was nicked and scarred 
from the great German pastime of fencing. Although 
wonderfully straight and well-built, with a face and 
jaw that spelled determination and strength, his eyes 
possessed all :'Jthe hellishness and heinousness of a 
Hun. We wereNintroduced, whereupon this young 
Flying Lieutenant clicked his heels together and gave 
us a salute almost as perfect as the world-famous 
salute of General Pershing. 

After some sort of a framed-up conversation, the 
flyer sat down and the Intelligence Officer explained 
to us that the flyers and the anti-aircraft artillery 
and the machine gun crews had been in a controversy 
as to who should have the credit for bringing us 
down and that this Lieutenant had contended that 
the Squadron which he commanded was responsible; 



THE COURT OF INQUIRY 205 

and he wanted to find out who it actually was that 
gained this victory. This did not seem to interest the 
other German-American officers present, so they ex- 
cused themselves and left. The only remaining offi- 
cer who spoke English was the Intelligence Officer; 
the young, battle-scarred Lieutenant, to the best of 
our knowledge, did not. So when the Intelligence 
Officer stated that this Lieutenant was in one of the 
four planes that was firing on us when we finally 
went down, Davis went to pieces and snapped out 
the impertinent question, "And was he one of the 
four who fired on us after we were already shot 
down?" 

The flyer conceded that all four of them fired at 
us, but that they were certainly not trying to kill us 
but were merely trying to keep us from escaping. 
This was too sad an excuse to get by. Davis told him 
that he didn't care a hang who got the credit for 
shooting us down — we were down and that was all 
there was to that subject — but that in the American 
Army it was considered mighty poor to strike a man 
when he was already down. The Intelligence Officer 
was surprised and scornfully asked me if the Ameri- 
cans did not do exactly the same thing. Davis reared 
back like a rattlesnake about to strike and with eyes 
flashing fire of indignation and contempt told them 
that if an American Aviator was caught doing a thing 
like that — firing on the enemy when he was already 
down — that the Americans, themselves, would take 
their own countryman out and, without giving him 
the pleasure of being shot to death, would tar and 



206 LUCK ON THE WING 

feather him and hang him, for to an American, when 
a fellow was down he was down, and whether we 
were fighting a war or not, we wouldn't stand for 
murdering any one in cold blood. I saw we were 
getting in Dutch, right off, and so did Davis, for as 
the Intelligence Officer explained it to the high- 
spirited flyer we could see his temples throb and his 
eyes quiver from anger; and his jaws closed with 
hatefulness and scorn. The Intelligence Officer, real- 
izing that the conversation was getting into deeper 
channels than was especially desired for the occasion, 
told the German aviator something and without 
saluting or otherwise rendering military courtesy, he 
left the room. 

There remained only the Intelligence Officer, Davis 
and myself. The court of inquiry was in session — 
the suave Prussian on the bench and two obstinate 
American jailbirds in the pit. The German told us 
to help ourselves to the cigarettes, and believe me, we 
realized that it might be the last time we would have 
such a liberal invitation for, maybe, many months to 
come. We accepted. Take it from me, we certainly 
smoked — rapidly, but at the same time languidly. 
We consumed those cigarettes like a Vacuum Cleaner 
takes up dust. When we had depleted the supply of 
twenty the Intelligence Officer produced twenty more, 

As a hard and fast rule a prisoner should never 
talk. In this way it is certain that no information 
will be given out. Once in a great while a prisoner 
can do some good by talking — I am sure that no 
American ever told, deliberately, any true informa- 



THE COURT OF INQUIRY 207 

tion, either voluntarily or under pressure or even 
threat of execution; but a great deal of dope was 
gained through subterfuge, or from the ordinary man 
who foolishly tried to spar against the keen mind of 
the officer who has made a life study of that particu- 
lar work. Thus our case was different, for as an 
Operations Officer of an Army I also was versed in in- 
telligence work. At least, I had an equal chance. 

As usual, the first ruse of the German was to find 
the location of our airdrome, for, since they found an 
identification tag on Davis, they knew his squadron 
was the 104th. Of course, I didn't belong to that 
squadron, but I said nothing, for the reason that it 
would serve no useful purpose to dispute this pre- 
sumption. He showed us some absolutely marvelous 
photographs of our airdrome taken by German 
cameras at extremely high altitudes and also pictures 
of other airdromes close by. I recognized them all 
right, but, believe me, I gave no signs of it. 

After about thirty-five minutes of dickering with 
those photographs in which he tried by every possible 
manner and means to catch a clue as to the location 
of our airdrome, he pulled the very subtle change in 
conversation from airdromes to the general feeling 
about the war. He wanted to know what schools 
we had attended and what subjects we had taken, and 
what Americans did for diversion in their colleges, 
whether or not they fenced, and then he nicely asked 
us to explain a little about football; in other words, 
perfectly harmless questions. We gladly talked foot- 
ball, but kept on the alert lest we be taken unawares. 



208 LUCK ON THE WING 

Suddenly in the midst of these immaterial questions 
and discussions about our schools, customs and life in 
general, from a clear sky and in a very nonchalant 
manner, came a new surprise. 

"Oh, about your relatives and friends,' ' he re- 
marked sympathetically — "they will be very worried 
to hear that you have been reported missing in 
action." We both agreed to that, of course. "Well," 
he went on as if he had been inspired by a solution, 
"if you wish to write a little note to some of your 
friends back in the squadron the German flyers will 
very gladly drop the messages over the lines on the 
next patrol, which will be to-night. You see, ' ' and he 
cleared his throat by way of emphasis, "by this 
method your parents and your friends will not 
worry; otherwise, they may think you have been 
killed." 

I was surprised, really, at this ostensible kindness — 
it was attractive enough to bear investigating. As a 
matter of fact, the recent illness of my mother con- 
vinced me that she could not withstand the shock of 
my reported casualty. I immediately decided that if 
it was possible to adopt this expedient news service, 
provided I did not have, to give any military informa- 
tion, I would do so. Like every boy, I knew that the 
one person in the world who loved me most was my 
mother. She had a right to know. So, accepting his 
pencil, I wrote very rapidly: 

"To Any Allied Officer or Man: 

Kindly notify American General Headquarters that 



THE COURT OF INQUIRY 209 

Lieutenants Raymond Davis and Elmer Haslett, Air 
Service, are safe prisoners of war in Germany. ' ' 

He took it, read it, and in a business-like manner 
wrote something over it by way of endorsement, 
which, he explained, meant "Censored," and hand- 
ing it back to me I read what I had written to Davis. 
Calling a man, who like all the other Germans we 
had seen so far, gave a smart salute upon entering, 
the officer handed him the note and muttered some- 
thing in German, then hypocritically smiling, he as- 
sured us that he was sending the message direct to 
the airdrome to be dropped over the lines by the next 
patrol. His matter-of-fact attitude led us to believe 
that everything was a matter of course, and the in- 
cident was closed. However, after the soldier had 
been gone a few seconds the officer jumped up, 
hastened to the door and called him back. The man 
handed him our note and, hastily glancing at the ad- 
dress, the Lieutenant said smilingly, ' ' Oh, you know, 
you neglected to write on the note where you want it 
dropped/ ' and handing me a pencil he continued 
quite concernedly, ''Lucky I thought of it, wasn't 
it?" 

I began to see the gleam and color of the snake in 
the grass. So I wrote on it "France." I knew he 
expected to see the name of our airdrome on there, 
so after a cynical laugh he tried to look serious, 
although he well realized that he was being out- 
maneuvered. 

"Oh, you know," he explained, "you must make 



210 LUCK ON THE WING 

it more definite than that. Where are your friends? 
That would be the place to drop it." 

Whereupon I told him to write upon it " Paris." 

"Oh!" and he manifested complete surprise, "you 
have come from Paris?" 

I laughingly told him that I had been there, and 
then he grew serious, but did not show any anger. 

"Now really," and he looked directly at Davis, as 
if to solicit some aid from him, "you should tell us 
your airdrome, for instance, which would be the best 
place to drop it." 

Davis told him that we really did not know the 
name of our airdrome, or its location. This was a 
good hunch, and backing Davis up with our mutual 
ignorance, I told him that if he dropped the message 
anywhere over the lines it would certainly be found, 
and while we, ourselves, were not very well known 
in France, having been there only a very short time, 
the American General Headquarters was well known 
and our names were on record at Headquarters. He 
was nonplussed, for his last card had been played and 
the location of our airdrome had not yet been di- 
vulged. 

The Germans were, of course, anxious to find out 
the location of our airdrome for the reason that if 
by collaboration of information they found that sev- 
eral squadrons had been moved from other places to 
airdromes opposite their own front they would know 
that the forces were concentrating at a particular 
point and that something was likely to pop. Thus, it 
gave them the opportunity to distribute their own 



THE COURT OF INQUIRY 211 

strength accordingly. He had failed on this, so he 
started out on new tasks. 

' 'How do you like Rickenbacker?" he said very 
casually, by way of changing the subject. 

"Who?" I questioned disinterestedly. 

' ' Rickenbacker, your greatest flyer — Squadron 
94, ' ' he added in surprise at my ignorance, and corre- 
sponding pride at his own intelligence. 

1 ' New one on me — never heard of it, " I replied. 

"Never heard of the 94th?" he ejaculated, even 
more surprised. "Well, the 94th is your best ehasse 
squadron and," he continued, by way of demon- 
strating his superior knowledge, "the 12th is your 
best observation squadron, the 96th is your best 
bombing squadron and the 91st is your best surveil- 
lance squadron. As a matter of fact, by following 
the movements of these four organizations we pretty 
well know where your main body of aviation is con- 
centrated. ' ' 

A hasty reflection taught me that the old boy had 
the situation pretty well sized up, for, indeed, he had 
accurately named our most famous squadrons in their 
particular work. 

However, I still professed ignorance. 

"So you don't know Rickenbacker?" he proceeded. 
"I can also tell you something about him." Where- 
upon he enlightened me by the statement that Eddie 
was a German, born in Germany and educated while 
a boy in German schools — all of which he pointed out 
as the reasons for Rickenbacker 's superior skill and 
efficiency. But the Fatherland was completely off 



212 LUCK ON THE WING 

with "Rick" in spite of their proud — but, by the 
way, unfounded — claim of nationality. The Intelli- 
gence Officer told me that they considered him an 
absolute traitor to the Fatherland. 

Another potent reason, he explained, was that they 
emphatically believed that Eickenbacker 's tactics of 
burning balloons at night was inhuman, since the 
poor balloon observers did not even have a chance to 
get away with their lives. It was at this time that 
Lieutenant Frank Luke was at the height of his mar- 
velous success of burning German balloons at night, 
but they had blamed it all on "Rick." In fact, it 
could easily be gathered from what he said that Luke 
had the German balloonists' goat so well haltered that 
many of them refused to go up for night observation, 
and naturally the command was worried. 

As I told Rickenbacker afterward, there certainly 
would have been a crowd around the fire if he had 
been shot down in Germany, for he was the one man 
for whom they were all looking, for more reasons 
than one. 

After again emphatically denouncing "Rick" for 
his "inhuman tactics" he changed the conversation 
and asked me how many Americans we had in 
France. 

"That is a matter we do not care to discuss," I 
said in a manner indicating that while we knew posi- 
tively the exact number we wished to sidetrack the 
issue. 

He momentarily permitted it. 



THE COURT OF INQUIRY 213 

"Your losses by our submarines must have been 
appalling/' he said, not forcing the subject 

I told him that our losses by their submarines had 
not been nearly so great as their losses by their own 
submarines. This was Greek to him, so he asked me 
what I meant, and I explained to him that while 
their submarines were causing us some damage all 
right, and a lot of worry, yet they were also respon- 
sible for our being in France and that if the Ameri- 
can Army had not already caused them all the losses 
and all the worry they could possibly withstand that 
it soon would. He was very anxious to impress upon 
us that he believed that the policy of Von Tirpitz was 
all wrong and he admitted that Germany realized that 
she could not win with America in the war. ' * To Ger- 
many/ ' he said, "it is now a proposition of defense.' ' 

Then Davis calmly proceeded to tell him that if 
Germany ever wanted to save herself she had better 
throw up her hands quick, because in 1920 the Allies 
were certainly going to give her a walloping blow 
from Switzerland to the sea. 

"Ah," he said, "1920 is a long way off. How many 
Americans will you have here in 1920?" 

I looked at Davis, hesitated a second as if calcu- 
lating, then said, "Let's see — we have three million 
five hundred thousand here now; we ought to have 
seven million by that time." Then I assumed a 
sheepish-looking attitude, as if I had said something 
which should have been kept secret. He looked at me 
a moment in amazement, then laughingly said: 



214 LUCK ON THE WING 

"You are joking. You have not three million five 
hundred thousand here now." 

I nodded my head affirmatively, while Davis 
chirped up, "That's right." 

"In France?" he gasped. 

"Yes, in France," I repeated. 

"Oh, no. It is not possible. How do you know?" 
he exclaimed. 

With a perfectly straight face I told him that the 
only way I knew was that every man who came across 
was given a number as he sailed, and that I had been 
in France only two weeks, and that my number was 
3,246,807, and I was quite sure that the difference 
had been made up. If he had asked me to repeat 
those figures I couldn't have done it to save my life. 
He looked thoughtfully at the floor, which gave Davis 
and me the opportunity to smile and wink at our 
little joke. 

' ' How long do you think the war will last ? ' ' 

I bowed my head and rubbed along my temples as 
if in deep thought, then suddenly looking up at him 
as if some muse had given me a correct solution of 
the problem, I told him that while it was very hard 
to tell accurately, most Americans felt that it would 
be not less than three years and not over five. The 
officer threw back his hands in utter horror like a 
spinster at her first view of a t. b. m. production. 

"Three years more of this Hell?" he said. "Ugh! 
It will be not more than three months." 

I agreed with him entirely, although I did not 
say so. 



THE COURT OF INQUIRY 215 

"Three months?" I said in surprise. "Do you 
think you will win this war in three months ? ' ' 

1 ' No, Germany will not win the war, ' ' he sighed in 
apparent regret, "but we will quit, for we cannot 
win. We lost our last chance when he failed to get 
to Paris in July/' 

Seeing that we were evidently interested, he 
thought that it was the proper time to get down to 
the real subject of "intelligence/' but we, too, were 
prepared. 

"Do your aviators know everything that is taking 
place?" he asked. "Yes," answered Davis, "our 
aviators are very intelligent. The command has 
great confidence in them " ; " and, ' ' I added, ' * in fact, 
aviators see a copy of every Army order issued." 

"You knew, then," he continued, "that you had 
attacked from Verdun to Rheims and the French 
from Rheims to Soissons and the British from Sois- 
sons to the sea." 

"Yes," I said, "I know that the Allies have at- 
tacked all along." And, as a matter of fact, I did, 
but most of our flyers did not, and it was only on ac- 
count of the nature of my work that I knew this in- 
formation. But I also knew that for some time past 
Marshal Foch had been pulling a big, strategic fake 
down in the Vosges mountains from Luneville to the 
Swiss border, a very quiet sector, by displaying an 
unusual amount of activity in the parading of empty 
motor trucks back and forth to the front, which, of 
course, could not have been unnoticed by the Ger- 
mans and necessarily caused them much concern. As 



216 LUCK ON THE WING 

a matter of fact, I knew that those trucks were empty 
and were being paraded only to create the impres- 
sion that the Allies were getting ready to attack in 
that sector. Intelligence reports that I had read pre- 
vious to my capture stated that the Germans were 
looking forward to this attack and that some of the 
newspapers had even mentioned it. So, when he fired 
his next question I, too, had my little pop-gun all 
ready, cleaned, oiled, primed, bored, trigger pulled, 
cocked, aimed, set and loaded to the brim with T.N.T., 
triple forced dynamite, and I let him have it. 

1 'Ah, if you are attacking all along here," he said 
as he pointed to the battle area on the map on the 
table, "you are pushing us north. Now, you must 
attack from Verdun east or you are leaving your 
right flank unprotected, so unless you do attack 
toward the east we will flank and annihilate you." 
Sweeping his hand over the big, broad map of 
France, he assumed the air of a Napoleon. 

I wasn 't worried about that flanking movement, for 
I was all fixed for that; in fact, I was way ahead of 
him. I was doing my best to figure out my location 
and the way to the lines so that if there was any 
chance of my escaping I would know, at least, the 
general direction in which to go. 

"Oh," I said, apparently without thought, "you 
haven't the latest reports, have you? Well, since 
it's out I'll tell you. Our latest communiques this 
morning stated that we had attacked in the Vosges, 
had surprised the Germans, and our troops will have 
taken Mulhausen by to-morrow morning." 



THE COURT OF INQUIRY 217 

I have never seen a man so happy as this Intelli- 
gence Officer — he was all smiles. He had made cer- 
tain a conjecture, for he had found out that we were 
really going to attack in the Vosges, and he knew 
that it had not yet taken place. I could see the 
gleam in his eyes as he visioned the honor, prestige 
and the like he would reap as the reward for his 
wonderful discovery. He apparently could not wait 
to get the news to headquarters. Abruptly closing 
the conversation, he shook hands with us, rang the 
bell and turned us over to a couple of officers who 
took us out to the camp in our tin-wheeled bus, 
and in a few minutes we were again in jail, where, 
relieved from the presence of German officers, we 
threw off the cloak of dignified propriety and, giving 
vent to stored-up jollity, we laughed heartily and 
long. 

Indeed, we felt sure by the very affable manner in 
which we had been released that the duck had 
been royally fixed. I do not know how true it is, 
but I afterwards heard that this Intelligence Officer 
was so convinced and enthusiastic over his discovery 
that the General was also convinced, and in turn re- 
ported it to the Gros Headquarters at Treves, and 
that the Supreme Command issued preliminary or- 
ders to take two Divisions away from the Argonne 
Reserve for duty in the Vosges. This may or may 
not be so, though I am inclined to think it is not, but 
it does not particularly matter. I do know, how- 
ever, that afterward, for some reason or other, when 
I was transported by rail through Germany I was 



218 LUCK ON THE WING 

honored with extra guards, who had in their pos- 
session a descriptive card which honored me to the 
extent of remarking that I was a very dangerous 
character, a clever liar, and was to be especially well 
watched. 



X 



BECOMING KULTURED 



I WAS born in a small town, and I 'm a small town 
guy. A small town always gets the full advan- 
tage of propaganda, and as people in small towns do 
not have a great variety of subjects to talk about 
when they once get a good one it has a long season. 
The folks around the towns where I had lived in the 
West and Middle West had been led to believe that 
while the ideal environment for the ground work of 
stability of character was to be found in the broad, 
open atmosphere of the country west of the Missis- 
sippi, yet for further polish and refinement it was 
necessary to seek the Eastern States, or better, to 
sojourn a while in England or Prance. There was 
some discussion as to which was the better of these 
two places. However, for the final graduation in 
culture, it was an entirely different story — there 
were no two sides to the argument at all that the 
post graduate course in refinement could be obtained 
but at one place in the whole wide world. There 
was no alternative. It was thoroughly agreed that if 
one aspired to become a finished product with the 
proper veneer, that person must beat it to Germany 
and become Kultured. Perhaps this feeling was the 

219 



220 LUCK ON THE WING 

result of well-directed German propaganda; at any 
rate, it was a firmly established belief where I lived, 
at least. 

This "Kultur" bunk had never interested me, for 
I always had felt that the United States was good 
enough. A man who had good tips on the horse 
races was a hundred times more interesting to me 
than a much vaunted German Count who came from 
the wonderful country of Wagner, Goethe and 
Schiller. At that, though, I had studied German a 
couple of years in preparatory school, but I want to 
say here and now that the only reason for my doing 
it was because the only other choice was Latin, which 
was entirely beyond the possibilities of my mind. So 
when I finished the laborious German course at school 
I promptly proceeded to forget it. 

Now fortune had thrust upon me the opportunity 
for which many Americans before the war had vainly 
wished — namely, a sojourn in Germany and a course 
in Kultur, for, indeed, was I not being entertained 
as a guest of the German Government — or was it the 
jest of the German Government? 

Thus in spite of the fact that I never aspired to 
become Kultured, it was certain that I was going to 
get it whether I wished it or not. It was like the 
compulsory inoculations and vaccinations in the 
army — there was no choice in the matter for the 
poor guy who's getting it. 

Perhaps the condition of my appetite had some- 
thing to do with the shaping of my observations as 
to the actual working of German Kultur, for I was 



BECOMING KULTURED 221 

hungry when I was made prisoner and that empty 
feeling never left me from the time I was shot down 
until several weeks after I was released. 

All during the first day of our imprisonment we 
had nothing to eat, except the dainty "tea of 
bribery" at the session of the court of inquiry in the 
afternoon, and the only effect of that tea was to 
whet our already cutting appetites. So, having been 
returned from the session of court, we sat down on 
a rude bench in our dingy abode at the Montmedy 
prison camp to brood over our misfortune and to 
settle down for that course in Kultur. We were 
thoroughly blue, for the only joys in life during that 
day had been the facts that we had successfully lied 
to the German Intelligence Officer and so far we had 
not divulged any military information. 

And here is a point that I noticed all through 
Germany from the officers on down — with rare ex- 
ceptions. A German will promise you anything in 
order to appear affable and pleasant. It is commonly 
done, and they get off with it for a certain time. 
From these continued observations of unfulfilled 
promises I formed a definition of " Kultur." In my 
mind it is that superficial and subtle form of hypoc- 
risy practised by the German race and commonly 
accepted by them as justifiable and necessary in their 
state of affairs, which permits of the affording of 
temporary satisfaction in meeting the emergency in 
hand by giving indiscriminate promises — which 
promises are never fulfilled nor intended to be ful- 
filled at the time of making; and which further per- 



222 LUCK ON THE WING 

mits and justifies the explanation of nonfulfillment 
of promises by the giving of more and similar empty 
and insincere promises. 

Our room was rather chilly, for in our absence the 
fire had gone out. With the wood we had coerced 
from the sergeant the orderly finally came in and 
built us a little fire. We used French economy, for 
we were quite sure that it was going to be cold before 
the night was over, with the limited covering they 
had given us. 

I was getting as hungry as the snake which sleeps 
all winter, or summer, whichever it is. So I put it 
up to the orderly, who politely told us he would bring 
our food at once. I am sure we waited a full hour 
and a half for that food and I was experiencing all 
sorts of sensations as to whether slow starvation was 
about to begin. I remembered reading that starving 
people were sometimes sustained by chewing shoe 
leather, so I was wondering how long my poor shoes 
would last at a ration of a square inch of leather to 
chew each day. This hunger was getting my goat. 
I had heard of walking off intoxication and seasick- 
ness so I decided to try walking off hunger. 

I opened the door and walked into the surround- 
ing boneyard, which was hemmed in by several high 
fences of barbed wire. While most prison camps are 
well lighted at night in order that there will be little 
possibility of any one escaping without being seen 
by one of the many guards, this was different, in that 
it seemed totally dark. Perhaps the reason for this 
was its proximity to the lines, or it might have been 



BECOMING KULTURED 223 

that it was too early for lights. I was just milling 
around aimlessly when suddenly from somewhere 
without the darkness came a voice in German and so 
gruffly that it almost took me off my feet. I real- 
ized that I was being addressed individually, and 
while the words meant nothing to me, the tone of 
voice in which they were spoken convinced me that it 
could be nothing else than the familiar old "Halt! 
Who goes there?'' Not being well versed in the num- 
ber of times a German sentry calls his challenge be- 
fore he fires, I took a chance on one of the few words 
I knew and quickly answered "Freund," for, as I 
figured it, "Friend" is a harmless word any way 
you take it. The old squarehead only answered "Ja" 
and quite unconcernedly walked on. 

"Well," I thought, "this is easy." So, continuing 
my tour, I got around to the side where I found that 
during the day some prisoners had been working, 
probably digging weeds, for to my pleasant surprise 
I discovered, perhaps for their own purposes, they 
had left their tools, including a couple of spades* 
Such luck, for with those spades, on such a dark 
night it would be easily possible to tunnel out. The 
big rub was that the orderly told us that the door to 
the hut would be locked at nine o'clock and that we 
could not go out of the house until seven o'clock the 
next morning. It was then about a quarter of nine, 
so I went in and told Davis, and he, of course, agreed 
to attempt to escape that night. The big point first 
was to manage to get out of the house, which could 
only be effected by crawling through a window. 



224 LUCK ON THE WING 

Davis was just in the act of testing the strength of 
the window when the door opened and the orderly 
came in with our sumptuous repast. In ravenous 
anxiety we sized up the banquet — it consisted of a 
piece of hard, mealy, black bread, dimensions two 
inches by three inches by three inches, and in a pot 
was the rest of the dinner, which consisted of soup. 

I never did like soup, but I'll say this much in 
favor of it: I have never enjoyed a meal in my life 
like I enjoyed that soup. We had two nice tin pans 
in which to serve our soup. We put the pot on the 
stove to keep it warm while I proceeded to dish it 
out, spoonful by spoonful, the liquid coming first; 
then we divided the remaining vegetables — two 
dilapidated looking spuds and three little samples of 
hard, gritty, grimy meat. I gave Davis one piece and 
I took the other, then we matched three times to see 
who would get the other piece. We matched, and 
the first time I won; the next flip Davis won. Be- 
lieve me, small and insignificant as that piece of meat 
was, I was too hungry to lose it, so I got cold feet. 

''Davis," I suggested, "this is damned foolishness. 
Well cut that meat in two pieces. I'm seared I'm 
going to lose. ,, 

As Davis was cutting it this hard, gritty, grimy, 
little piece of meat slipped and fell into a pail of 
water which we had just lifted off the stove. Like 
two South Sea Islanders diving for coins thrown by 
the generous tourist from shipboard, we rescued the 
meat by diving into the water with both hands, 
making a beautiful splash all over the floor. Davis 



BECOMING KULTURED 225 

showed himself to be a religious sort of a guy, for he 
suggested that since we had been so lucky in escap- 
ing with our lives that we make a burnt offering of 
this meat. I didn't know whether he was joking or 
not about the burnt offering, so I took no chance on 
his not being serious and told him we had already 
made one burnt offering that day in burning up that 
airplane. Without further argument we sliced the 
meat into two pieces and each had his portion. 

I had eaten about half of my bread and was still 
so hungry that I could have eaten puckery persim- 
mons with considerable relish when I realized that if 
we intended trying to escape that night we had best 
lay off mincing that bread, for we would certainly 
need it the next day. We talked it over, then viewed 
it from every angle, but since we were in occupied 
French territory we decided that I could speak 
enough French, and with Davis's pathetic eyes we 
could sure win enough favor with the "froggies" to 
get by, although they probably had barely enough to 
eat themselves. 

We crawled into our bunks without removing our 
clothes for the reason that it was too cold to sleep 
without them and we also intended to get out during 
the night. About two o'clock, after continued tossing 
and tumbling, wondering just what process we would 
follow in the attempt, I got up and awakened Davis ; 
then I crept to the window. After a good twenty 
minutes of tinkering with that window, cautiously 
moving it an eighth of an inch at a time, I finally got 
it open to such a point that we could get out — at 



226 LUCK ON THE WING 

least, so I thought. Directly in front of us was one 
of those little houses so commonly used at garrisons 
in France and Germany, known as Sentry Boxes. I 
figured the old boy would be in there all right, but he 
would be fast asleep, so I stuck my head out, gave a 
little spring, and as I brought my stomach up on the 
sill like a flash from out the sentry box stepped this 
hardboiled Boche. He had a huge flashlight and im- 
mediately I was in the spotlight. The window was 
the stage and I the star. There is some humor in the 
situation, now as I look back upon it, but believe me, 
there was none then. For when that German began 
to excitedly ejaculate "Loze! Loze!" whatever 
that is, I took my head to cover just like a tortoise 
draws his protruding physiognomy into the secret 
confines of his shell. 

" It 's all right, ' ' I called as we hit *f or our bunk, 
' ' we 've got to have a little air. ' ' 

That night we almost froze to death, for we didn't 
dare to close the window, for we did not know the 
extent of the German sentry's memory of foreign ex- 
pressions, and the fact that we left the window open 
all night would be a good alibi for opening the win- 
dow in that we did need air. It was a hard result, 
but since it was our story we shivered and stuck to 
it. Take it from me, we were icebergs the next 
morning. 

Fortunately they served us an early breakfast, 
which consisted of some hot German Ersatz coffee, 
which is no coffee at all. It is made from acorns and 
it doesn't go well as a substitute. In fact, you must 



BECOMING KULTURED 227 

train your appetite and taste for Ersatz just as you 
do for olives. They brought us a little confiture, 
which was also imitation and it didn 't have any more 
consistency than a marshmallow. The orderly started 
to walk away and simultaneously Davis bawled out, 
" Where is our bread? " The orderly explained that 
they had given us our allowance last night for 
twenty-four hours. 

If this was to be our regular ration I could see 
ourselves starving to death by degrees. It was use- 
less to say that they had not given us enough, for 
that line does not appeal to the German. If each of 
us received a piece of bread, that settled the argu- 
ment, but if the allowance for both of us was brought 
in one piece there was room for discussion. The 
orderly claimed he had brought two pieces of bread, 
but I claimed that he had brought only one piece, so 
how did we know it was supposed to be for the both 
of us. Finally I said that I was going to tell an 
officer. This got results, for after conferences be- 
tween the Sergeant of the Camp, the Corporal of the 
Guard, the Orderly, the Cook and the Keeper of the 
Official Storehouse they brought us in another little 
piece of bread. 

The next night they brought in a French pilot, who 
was supposed to have been shot down the night be- 
fore on a bombing raid. We suspected right off that 
he was a German spy trying to gain our confidence, 
for the first thing he did was to tell us in French how 
much he hated the Germans and to give us addresses 
of people who could help us to escape when we got 



228 LUCK ON THE WING 

to Karlsruhe, which, he said, was the place they sent 
all prisoners. He said he could speak but little Eng- 
lish and knew no German at all. 

After venturing a lot of information about the 
number of his squadron and its location he asked me 
the number of my squadron. I told him the number 
of my squadron was ' ' 2106 ' ' but that I had forgotten 
the name of the airdrome, as we had only flown up 
there. Then he began to suggest some of our prom- 
inent airdromes to assist my memory. I did not bite 
at his bait, but rapidly changed the subject. Then 
he began to play solitaire with our cards, at the 
same time paying very keen attention to our con- 
versation. 

I decided to justify my suspicion that he was a 
German spy, so I made the suggestion that since I 
was a prisoner it might help to know more German, 
so as Davis had studied it more recently -than I, I 
asked him to give me a German lesson, as I especially 
wanted to learn some words that might come in 
handy. So as I would ask Davis for the German 
words for a number of ordinary objects he would 
give me the word and his pronunciation of it. We 
worked hard for fully half an hour. The Frenchman 
had said nothing, and as I noticed he was not pay- 
ing very close attention I indicated to Davis not to 
tell me the next word. Davis did well, and I re- 
peated, ' ' Dog — dog — dog, ' ' several times. Davis said 
he did not know, and then the Frenchman, seeing us 
both puzzled, spoke up and said, "Dog. Qu'est que 
ce 'Dog'?" which in French means ''What do you 



BECOMING KULTURED 229 

mean 'Dog'?" I told him in French that I wanted 
the word for dog in German, and just as natural as 
could be he instantaneously replied, "Der Hund." 
He had fallen into our trap and we knew quite well 
then that he was a German. It was too apparent for 
argument. After that Davis and I said absolutely 
nothing. In fact, we had nothing to do with him 
whatsoever and later that night the Sergeant of the 
Guard came in and told him that he had been or- 
dered to proceed to Karlsruhe, but that the orders 
for us to be moved had not come. We afterwards 
found that this same gag of French friendship had 
been pulled on several other prisoners, some of whom 
were, unfortunately, unsuspecting. 

In a couple of days we were taken over to Mont- 
medy, or rather we walked over, for after having 
once gotten our supposed information there was no 
reason to be courteous enough to furnish us trans- 
portation. At Montmedy we were to take the train 
for the big prisoners' concentration camp at Karls- 
ruhe. Before we left we were given our traveling 
rations, which consisted of some boiled meat and 
bread, and this was supposed to last two days. 

On the trip and at the station at Montmedy I no- 
ticed that the morale of the German Army must 
have failed a good deal, for the discipline was not 
what I had always supposed it to be. The proud 
Prussian officers carried their own trunks while the 
enlisted men stood around, and I actually saw a 
crowd of enlisted men push aside an officer who was 
trying to get into the train ahead of them. I real- 



230 LUCK ON THE WING 

ized then that the statement of the German Intelli- 
gence Officer that it was a proposition of not more 
than three months was actually more accurate than 
I had been inclined to allow myself to believe. 

There was one real character on the train — a hard- 
boiled Feldwebel, which was the German name for 
Sergeant-Ma j or, and corresponding pretty largely to 
our First Sergeant of the line. He was in charge of 
our party. 

Feldwebels are actually the backbone of the Ger- 
man Army. They are well trained and highly effi- 
cient. This man had many decorations and physically 
was a superman. He tried his best to be affable, and 
though he did not speak good English he tried hard 
enough and we tried our best to supplement his de- 
ficiencies with our rather scant knowledge of Ger- 
man. With great pride he told us of all the battles 
he had been in since the beginning of the war, and 
I must say he would be entitled to many bronze stars 
on his service ribbon. 

Finally the conversation drifted to the relative 
fighting qualities of each Army. He said he was 
quite sure that the American doughboy was the 
nerviest fighter on the front, although he was seri- 
ously handicapped by lack of experience. He, him- 
self, had specialized in bayonet fighting and proudly 
stated that he was one of the best bayonet fighters 
in the whole German Army, to which fact all the 
others agreed. He said that with his blade he had 
whipped four Russians single handed; that unas- 
sisted he had cleaned up on four Italians, and he 



BECOMING KULTURED 231 

pointed to a coveted ribbon as a recognition of his 
feat ; that at Arras he had gotten the better of three 
Englishmen, and he pointed to still another ribbon; 
and that at Verdun, in the early days, he had even 
bested three Frenchmen in a deadly bayonet combat ; 
and he had individual bayonet victories galore; 
"but," he said, throwing up his hands and laugh- 
ing good naturedly, "an American gave me this — a 
negro," and he showed me a bronze button that he 
wore for having been wounded in defense of the 
Fatherland. He opened his blouse and shirt collar 
and showed us a long scar along his neck and 
shoulder. 

I had heard conflicting stories as to the fighting 
qualities of the American negro, so I asked him to 
explain how it happened. He said it was during a 
raid near Verdun ; the negroes were, undoubtedly, in 
training with the French Foreign Legion in that sec- 
tor. It started with a regular bayonet fight in which 
he quickly knocked the bayonet and rifle from the 
negro's hands, but as the Feldwebel was just about 
to give the final fatal stab the negro pulled out the 
proverbial razor from somewhere. The scar was the 
final result. He dramatically summed it up by tell- 
ing us that he would willingly fight the Russians, the 
Italians, the Englishmen and the Frenchmen at un- 
equal odds, at any time or place, but he was abso- 
lutely through with all Americans because they were 
crazy; they didn't care whether they got killed or 
not. 

* ' The colored troops, as a whole, are poor fighters, ' ' 



232 LUCK ON THE WING 

he said, in words to that effect, "but the American 
negro is the exception — he fights, and fights dirty." 

After a more or less monotonous journey we ar- 
rived at Karlsruhe and were just leaving the station 
when we heard a big brass band coming down the 
street, followed by great crowds, and then a detach- 
ment of German soldiers swung into view, doing their 
famous goose step. As they passed we could see that 
they were just youngsters who did not look over six- 
teen years of age. Clinging fondly to them and 
showering flowers in their path were their mothers, 
sisters and other relatives. There might have been 
sweethearts, but the boys looked too young for that. 
I was convinced that Germany was getting into pretty 
hard straits when she had to send that class of men. 
It seemed to me that the flower of her male popula- 
tion had withered and that there were now only the 
upstarts and old men left. 

At Karlsruhe we were taken to an old hotel which 
had been converted into a detention camp, and were 
put into confinement for a while. I was fortunate 
enough to be put into a room with several Britishers 
who had just been released from German hospitals. 
These lads had some food that had been sent them 
from home while in the hospital. They were won- 
derful fellows and if I had ever had any previous 
misgivings as to the sportsmanship of the British 
they certainly were removed in short order by the 
splendid and generous conduct of these boys. 

The second day at Karlsruhe we were again called 
before an Intelligence Officer and again interrogated. 



BECOMING KULTURED 233 

This time I gave more beautiful demonstrations in 
the art of prevarication, for there were more ciga- 
rettes at stake. The examination here was confined 
to technical matters, while before it had been tactical. 
I became so interested in the subject in hand that I 
told him about our new combination sound and 
vibration recorder which did many things for us, 
even accurately indicating the moment that the Ger- 
man airplanes took off from their airdromes, what 
direction they were going, their altitude and the 
number of planes. By this instrument we were able 
to follow their planes and shoot them down very 
easily. It might have been a scientist's dream, but 
I blandly explained it all to him, while I rapidly 
smoked his costly cigarettes, and the old boy took 
notes of my misinformation. But before I left this 
camp he had also found out that I was a liar, so he 
too tacked his little report to my already shattered 
reputation for truth and veracity. 

After a week at the temporary detention camp we 
were marched up, en masse, about fifty prisoners in 
all, including British, French, Italian, Portuguese 
and American, to the Main Prison Camp at Karls- 
ruhe. 

We had to have all our money changed into Ger- 
man prison money at a terrible discount. I'll say 
those Germans are thorough. For the fifth time we 
were searched. They even made one English Cap- 
tain take off his wooden leg to insure that he did 
not have a compass or anything like that hidden 
within it. They searched every stitch of clothing on 



234 LUCK ON THE WING 

us, and finally tried to make us sign a little state- 
ment saying that we were not taking anything in 
there that was forbidden and that we had read the 
rules of war and would be guided thereby or pay the 
penalty. The solemn word of an Allied officer did 
not mean any more to the German than the ordinary 
word of a German meant to us. 

Our money was exchanged at the rate of five hun- 
dred francs for three hundred marks in prisoners' 
money, which was really worth about one hundred 
marks. 

To search us they took us into a separate room, 
two at a time. As rumors will naturally leak out of 
the most secret chambers, we soon found that they 
were confiscating all leather goods, so in one accord 
everybody began to cut their leather goods into bits 
rather than turn it over to the Germans. I had my 
Sam Browne belt next to my skin and then my under- 
shirt, then a woolen O. D. shirt, and then my blouse. 
In addition I had a pair of leather gloves. I intended 
to save them both and, if absolutely necessary, to 
give them up only after a good fight. 

Finally my turn came to go in. I took off my 
blouse and my woolen shirt. The searcher demanded 
that I also take off my undershirt. I didn't have 
a lot of choice in the matter, so without argument I 
proceeded to remove my undershirt, and of course he 
found my belt. He motioned for me to take it off, 
for he spoke nothing but German. I balked and told 
him in English that the belt was mine. We argued 
for two or three minutes, but I refused to budge. He 



BECOMING KULTURED 235 

got real peeved at my stubbornness and called an in- 
terpreter. The interpreter explained that all leather 
goods were being confiscated on account of the short- 
age of leather in Germany and that I would have to 
give my belt up. I told him to tell the German that 
I had paid for that Sam Browne belt out of my own 
money and it wasn't Government property and was 
just as much mine as my trousers or my blouse. He 
told this to the guy who was searching me, but he 
merely shrugged his shoulders and mumbled some- 
thing, so the interpreter told me that it was ordered 
and not to talk so much and hand over the belt. 

I calmly proceeded to put on my undershirt, but 
the searcher began to lay hands on me, saying to the 
interpreter, "Nicht, nein, verboten," etc. The in- 
terpreter asked me to wait, he would request an of- 
ficer to come down. In quick order an officer arrived 
to find out about the near riot. He spoke good Eng- 
lish and explained to me that it was a ruling of the 
German Government that all leather goods were to be 
confiscated. 

This officer was very rushed and didn't have the 
time nor inclination to explain much, for explana- 
tions were not often made in Germany in those days, 
and especially not to prisoners. He told me it was 
an order and therefore had to be done and there was 
no use arguing about it. I politely told Him the only 
kind of orders I took were in writing, and I had a 
right to see the written orders. I expected to see him 
order the belt off of me by force, but to my surprise 
he sent up to the Headquarters and got an order ; at 



236 LUCK ON THE WING 

least, it looked like an order, for I could not read it 
after he got it — so, after palavering around for 
about five minutes I finally decided that the order 
was 0. K. and I would have to give up the belt. The 
officer immediately sent the order back and I then 
demanded a receipt for the belt. We had another 
argument over this and I insisted that the order had 
said that a paper receipt would be given for all 
leather confiscated. I was trying to stall, but, true to 
the traditions of German efficiency, they sent for the 
order again. Hastily looking it over as if I read 
German perfectly, I begged his pardon gracefully 
and told him that I guessed I had read it so rapidly 
the first time that I had mistaken a similar word for 
receipt. In considerable disgust at this uncalled for 
delay the officer left. 

I put on my clothes and started out, taking my 
gloves with me. The searcher came after me, call- 
ing, "Nein, nein," and attempted to take my gloves. 
Going back into the searching room, I told the in- 
terpreter that they did me out of my belt, but they 
couldn't have my gloves, for they were not flying 
gloves — they were nice gloves, dress gloves, riding 
gloves — and I had paid for them myself, and that 
while they could take my belt under the provisions 
of the order, yet the order had not said anything 
about gloves and if they wanted the gloves they would 
have to send for that officer again and get thoso 
orders and show me. The searcher was getting 
pretty indignant because there were a lot of others 
waiting to be searched and if they overheard our 



BECOMING KULTURED 237 

conversation it would set a bad precedent for the 
others, so far as he was concerned. 

So he dispatched a soldier immediately to get the 
order for the third time. After about a half hour it 
did not come and I was just sticking around making 
a general nuisance of myself when along came the 
officer I had previously dealt with. 

"Why are you still here?" he demanded. 

I explained to him that we were waiting for the" 
order to see if it said gloves when they were pri« 
vately purchased, dress gloves. He must have had 
a sense of humor, for he laughed outright and said, 
"Keep your damned old gloves and get out of here." 
Whereupon I walked out of the room with a pair of 
big, black, leather gloves which came in mighty 
handy on several occasions afterward and which I 
carried without further trouble throughout my trip 
through German Prison Camps on the strength of 
the precedent that they had been passed 0. K. by 
the searchers at Karlsruhe. The only trouble about 
retaining those gloves was that I had a terrible time 
convincing the rest of the guys that I really was 
not a German spy, for they could not otherwise ac- 
count for ostensible favoritism. 



XI 

ESCAPED ALMOST 

I HAVE little sympathy for any prisoner who, 
having been so unfortunate as to have been taken 
by the enemy, allowed himself to settle down to 
prison discipline, practically a subject of the enemy, 
without standing up like a man and at least trying 
to escape. 

Around a prison camp one hears many, many big 
ideas of escaping, but there are comparatively few 
actual attempts. In fact, this boasting habit got on 
one man to such an extent that he was known as 
"Wild Fugitive Bill/' for the reason that he was 
always concocting some new and novel means of 
escape and yet never had the nerve himself to put 
it through. Always at the last moment he would 
get cold feet and give up. 

The real test of courage comes when mental plans 
end and physical action begins. Some prisoners have 
even prided themselves upon being model prisoners. 
I have even heard a Captain of Infantry call the 
Americans together and suggest that some of us 
quit raising so much hell during roll call as our 
actions were counted against all the Americans. I 
pride myself on the fact that I "raised hell" at 

238 



ESCAPED ALMOST 239 

every opportunity from the time I was made pris- 
oner until I was released. The more trouble the 
prisoners of war caused the enemy the more men 
the enemy must keep away from the battle line to 
guard the disturbers. Not many prisoners consid- 
ered this a point, but I believe that as long as there 
is war the enemy should be fought and embarrassed — 
inside and outside. 

Karlsruhe seemed to be my ultimate destination, 
so after a few days to allow me to catch up on food 
which was more plentiful here on account of the 
remarkable contribution of the American Red Cross, 
I again began to set my mind to escaping. 

I talked it over with all the old prisoners and 
they said that no one had yet been able to escape 
from Karlsruhe, so, in order to get the advantage 
of experience I talked it over with everyone who had 
ever tried it. It seemed that the camp was only 
for concentration, and as statistics showed that the 
majority of escapes were attempted by newly made 
prisoners, this camp was especially guarded in order 
to challenge all comers and to discourage them early 
in the game. I looked over where every previous 
attempt had been made and was told just how it had 
failed to materialize. 

The entire camp was certainly well guarded. It 
had one inner, high fence of barbed wire and one 
outside fence constructed of wood, about twelve feet 
high and on top of it was a quarter arc of steel ex- 
tending inward, heavily covered with barbed wire. 
They had several guards on the inside and quite a 



240 LUCU ON THE WING 

large number on the outside, and both the inside 
and outside fences were well illuminated with electric 
lights. 

At one place along the high, back fence the guards 
had constructed a sort of chicken house, which 
threw a shadow against the fence, making it possi- 
ble, providing enough assistance was rendered, to 
construct a small tunnel. The bunch, which con- 
sisted of Oscar Mandel of New Jersey, a couple of 
other birds and myself, got together right after the 
evening meal and talked it over. After full delibera- 
tion we decided to try. It was our intention to 
have it as secret as could be, and we planned there 
would be only four of us in that escape — and no 
more; so, after we pledged to one another that we 
would tell absolutely no one else about it, we shook 
hands and started right away to make the prepara- 
tions for the dirty work. Of course, the big job at 
first was to construct that tunnel for the man who 
should draw that job would get the real lemon. The 
beat of one of the guards took him about every three 
minutes to within about ten feet of the place, and 
of course, directly on the outside was another guard 
whose movements would have to be largely guessed 
at. 

The approved plan was to put the "tunnel man" 
over the barbed wire fence; station another man on 
the inside, walking back and forth, whistling or 
something of the like to give the proper signals ; then 
put the other two men at different corners near the 
buildings close by in order to signal the movements 



ESCAPED ALMOST 241 

of the watchman to the man walking back and forth. 
Stepping into the light we got a deck of cards 
and made the agreement that the man who got the 
lowest card would go over the fence and dig the 
tunnel and the man who got the next would do the 
signaling. Mandel shuffled and Blacky, a little 
English doughboy, drew the first card. It was a Two 
of Diamonds. Mack, the second lad, drew a Queen. 
Mandel, whom we called Mendelssohn as he was a 
wonderful musician and also a past master in the 
art of escaping, picked an Eight of Clubs. I had a 
good chance for I didn't think it likely that I could 
get a lower card than Blackie 's ' ' Two, " so I snapped 
out a card just as unconcerned as could be and hast- 
ily looked at it — it was the Ace of Hearts. Now the 
question was whether the Ace was high or low. I 
had lots of queer sensations. We had made no agree- 
ment about it before drawing, so, I said nothing until 
the other two boys spoke up and said it seemed to 
them that Ace should be high. Mandel suggested 
that in order to be fair that we draw over again, 
it being agreed that the Ace would be high. This 
time I drew first in order that all the high cards 
would not get away. I picked a winner — the Three 
Spot of something — just what didn't worry me for 
I knew the thing was settled and that I would have 
to go and dig that tunnel. I was picturing myself 
out there getting shot at when Blackie again saved 
the day by pulling his same Two of Diamonds. Sev- 
eral sighs of relief were registered by my heaving 
lungs for my draw assigned me as outer Watchman 



242 LUCK ON THE WING 

where I had to give Blackie signals all the time. It 
was quite different than being between two fences, 
guns all around me and no place to hide. 

We agreed to start at once, so, instead of putting 
Mandel and Mack at the outer corners of the house 
nearest the scene of operations, we decided to sta- 
tion them at different windows in the house, so as 
not to cause suspicion by having too many outside. 
All the blinds were drawn on account of air raids, 
so we arranged that as the boys walked back and 
forth in front of the door, that they should quietly 
keep me informed as to the exact location of the 
guards. 

My signals to Blackie were very simple : Whenever 
I whistled a tune that sounded like rag-time he was 
to lay off; when I whistled a tune that sounded 
melancholy he was to work for all he was worth. 

"Do you understand thoroughly, old man?" I 
asked before he left to crawl over the first fence. 

"Sure, you don't think I'm deaf, do you?" he an- 
swered in his incomparable English cockney, as he 
shook my hand and started for the fence. 

Blackie got over the first wire fence with remark- 
able agility, but he was hardly over when he re- 
marked he had forgotten his little coal shovel which 
was the only tool we had. Finally we found this for 
him and as soon as I returned to my post Mandel 
gave me the signal that all was clear, so I began 
whistling the army funeral march, and I heard 
Blackie plugging away. In a few minutes when the 
boys signaled that the guard was again approach- 



ESCAPED ALMOST 243 

ing, I began to whistle "In the Good Old Summer 
Time," but to my amazement I heard Blackie still 
working away. Then, to get something real raggy 
I whistled "Alexander's Rag Time Band," but still 
Blackie worked on. The guard was fast approach- 
ing. Something had to be done for if he kept on 
working he would sure be caught, so, stepping right 
out in front of the Guard, who, of course, could not 
speak English, I began to sing a very sad and mourn- 
ful tune, with my own lyrics. 

"Blackie," I sang, "this guard is right behind me 
and for the Love of Mike, lay off." 

Blackie stopped; I kept on singing, and the old 
guard walked right on by. When he was on the 
other side of the building I rushed up to Blackie. 

"Blackie, you damn fool," I softly exclaimed, 
"can't you tell ragtime from a classic?" 

"Ragtime," he said in barely audible cockney 
English, "Why ragtime's the name of a song, and 
by the way, old fellow, if you don't like the way 
I'm digging this tunnel, come and try a hand at it 
yourself. It's beastly, you know." 

"Go ahead," I argued, "but from now on I'll whis- 
tle only when he is coming. Get me?" 

The next time the guard came around the corner 
of the building I began to whistle. To my surprise 
Blackie kept on working. I began to whistle louder 
than ever, but he kept right on, so, as the Guard 
approached me, I stopped whistling and instantly 
Blackie quit working. As the guard passed on I 
again went over to Blackie and said, 



244 LUCK ON THE WING 

"Hey, you poor fish! Didn't you hear me say to 
quit work when I whistled?" 

"Oh, you're wrong, old chap," he insisted. "You 
said very plainly to work only when you whistled." 

I began to think Blackie had to have it impressed 
upon him, so, I said, "All right, now. Forget it all 
and let's start over. Next time remember that when 
I whistle you work. See, when I whistle, I work; 
and when I whistle, you work, too." 

He understood this illustration pretty well and 
we kept this going successfully until about roll call, 
which was at nine o'clock. Then I asked Blackie if 
the tunnel was dug plenty deep enough. He was 
quite sure it was deep enough to get through, so, 
he crawled over the wire fence again, and we all 
beat it to our quarters to pack up our few belongings 
with the agreement that we would meet just outside 
the assembly shack right after roll call had finished. 

This escape, as I have stated, was to be between 
four of us and no more; but I would swear, there 
were a hundred eyes on me at roll call. And after- 
wards, not more than fifteen guys came around and 
wished me luck. 

"Luck on what?" I asked one fellow. 

"Why," he said inquiringly at my question, 
"you're going to try to escape, aren't you?" 

So, my well-wishing friends all began to talk about 
how they wished they had an opportunity to get 
away too, and all that bunk. I have concluded that 
a bunch of prisoners are the worst gossipers in the 
world anyway. Tell one and you tell all. This first 



ESCAPED ALMOST 245 

experience taught me at a dear cost, one of the most 
valuable lessons of my life. When you are going 
to escape, or, in fact, try anything else which from 
its nature requires secrecy, never, under any circum- 
stances, take any one into your confidence, and at 
most, if ever, only one trusted pal. I had heard the 
same bluff before, so, I told them if they wanted to 
get out after we had gotten away, to go ahead, they 
knew where the hole was, but not to go around and 
cackle about it like a bunch of old hens ; either to get 
their clothes ready and try to escape or else to go 
to bed and let some one else try it. 

In escaping, the first man to try has not only 
the greatest opportunity to escape, but also takes 
the greatest hazards in that if the plot is discovered 
beforehand, the guards will be on the job waiting 
for him, while if it is not discovered he has the best 
chance to get farthest away before the hounds are 
given the trail. 

It was the same old test of passing from words to 
action, and, so with that bunch of twelve or fifteen 
who said they wanted to escape. When it came down 
to the courage of action their wishes were merely 
words. Of that number, including the four original 
conspirators, only two went ahead with it. The other 
fellow who kept faith with me was Oscar Mandel. 

Most of the rest of the men all beat it to their 
different bunks; some hung around to see the fun, 
while Mandel and I stayed on the job. I took all of 
my insignia off of my coat in order that there might 
be nothing to reflect any rays of light that might 



246 LUCK ON THE WING 

strike us. Then, we mixed some mud and blacked 
our faces and hands in order that they would not 
stand out against the blackness of the night. 

Mandel and I matched and it was decreed that I 
should go first and that I would wait across the road 
for him. If I got caught I was to make a lot of 
noise and, if he was also unfortunate, he would do 
the same. 

An electric tram line ran right along by the camp 
and we felt that by following this road we would, 
at least, get out of the town. So, with a fond fare- 
well to the camp, as the Guard went around his 
beat, I slunk along in the shadows of the building. 
In the death-like stillness could be heard beyond the 
other fence, the steady beat of the outer watchman. 
Over to my right the guard of the inner camp was 
just stepping out of sight. Could ever opportunity 
be better than this? The time had arrived. I 
stepped up to the first wire fence, and threw my little 
sack over, then getting near a post I began to climb 
over. I cut my hands a lot on the barbed wire, but 
that was only incidental, and did not bother me. I 
weighed too much to get over like Blackie. It 
seemed to me that every wire I stepped on squeaked 
like the high ' ' E ' ' string of a toy violin. 

I dropped myself within the enclosure and ran 
along, slinking in the shadows of the fence, until I 
came to the tunnel. Here was a disappointment. I 
could no more get through it than an elephant would 
have a chance of entering a doll house. It might 
have been O.K. for Blackie, but he miscalculated for 



ESCAPED ALMOST 247 

me. It was not large enough for my shoulders, so, 
peeping out I saw the other German sentry, not over 
twenty feet away, and in his apparent unsuspecting 
demeanor I also saw my first step toward liberty. 

I realized it would be necessary to make the tunnel 
considerably larger if I ever expected to get through 
it. Biackie had made a bum job of it and worse, 
he had taken the shovel with him, and I had no 
implements whatsoever, except an unusually large 
jack-knife. Whipping loose the big blade I began to 
cut the frozen ground, taking a look around and 
then chipping away like a beaver at a dam. I felt 
like a real criminal and every motion picture play 
I had ever seen, of escaping prisoners, played vividly 
on my mind. I was working frantically and getting 
along pretty well, too, in spite of my rude implement, 
when all of a sudden I heard a tremendous noise 
that made me think that I was knocking on the door 
of Hades — it was a big siren blowing a warning for 
an air raid. Our Allied bombers were coming over 
to pay a visit to Karlsruhe. Believe me, I was for 
them. The reverberation of that siren was deafening, 
but I was certainly taking advantage of its tremen- 
dous noise by chugging away with all my might, 
when suddenly, not over a hundred and twenty-five 
feet from me a huge 107 calibre anti-aircraft gun 
exploded. I leaped like a squirrel against that fence 
for I felt sure that the gun had been aimed at me, 
and furthermore, that I had been hit. Pulling my- 
self together I realized that it was heavy artillery 
instead of a short-barreled shotgun. Immediately 



248 LUCK ON THE WING 

other huge guns began to fire and for a few minutes 
there was a real bombardment going on around 
there — the whole earth was shaking. I kept right 
on digging away for it was the chance of my life. Of 
course, all the guards were frightened and confused 
and were chasing back and forth, crying out strange 
ejaculations and perfectly good German words of 
profanity, mixed with earnest prayers from "Gott 
Mitt Uns" to "Teufel Strafe 'em/' for, believe me, 
they were acquainted with the variety of bombs 
dropped by the Allies. 

About this time everyone was out of the huts look- 
ing for the airplanes in the sky, and the inner guards 
were making a big rumpus and causing them to close 
the doors so the lights would not show, which, of 
course, would give away the presence of the 
' ' enemy. ' ' 

In all this confusion and excitement I thought it 
was a good time to duck, for while I did not feel that 
the hole was quite big enough, yet I would try it any- 
how because I probably would never have such an 
opportunity again. So, I started out. After con- 
siderable grunting and labor I got my head and 
shoulders through, and then my coat caught on a 
nail on the bottom of the fence and in spite of 
every imaginable maneuver from a wiggle to a 
"shimmie," I simply could not pull through. In 
twisting and squirming I shook the fence, whereupon 
the excited guard on the outside noticing me, came 
running up at full speed ahead and with pointed 
bayonet he frothed, "Loze! Loze! Vass is Dass?" 



ESCAPED ALMOST 249 

He was more excited over me than he was the pros- 
pect of a bomb dropping on the both of us. He 
thought that Gehenna had surely been transferred to 
Karlsruhe and that the whole camp was on the 
march. I thought he was going to take me for a 
practice dummy and judging from his speed I de- 
cided that he could not possibly stop until he had 
put that bayonet completely through me. He must 
have realized that if he captured me alive he would 
get more credit for it. Exasperated like a sick infant 
with the mumps, excited like a school girl at her 
graduation, and worked up like a Hebrew at a bar- 
gain, he cried out, "Commen sie aus! Commen sie 
aus!" making all sorts of ejaculations and motions, 
indicating clearly that he wanted me to come on out. 
He was making more noise than the archies. 

About this time I began to feel my leg being vio- 
lently kicked and some one beating against the fence 
from the inside, also crying out, " Commen sie 
in!" This old boy on whose beat I had escaped 
had real cause for concern, for he knew that he 
would be placed in jail for allowing me to get away 
should I get the rest of the way out. No wonder 
he had an interest in the matter. 

In a jiffy the two guards were in a dog fight over a 
bone — yours truly being the bone and the bone of 
contention — one was kicking me and the other pull- 
ing me — one anxious to get the bonus for capturing 
me and the other trying to save himself from jail. I 
was not only under the fence, but I was on both sides 
of it. I was afraid if I went on out the guard on 



250 LUCK ON THE WING 

the inside would shoot me, and if I backed in I knew 
I would be punished and I did not know but that 
the guard on the outside might become real excited 
and stick me. So, while they were fighting between 
themselves, one pulling and the other tugging at me, 
I decided that if I did go on out I might have a 
chance to hit this other guy on the bean and take a 
run for liberty. The guns were firing all the time 
and things were getting good and hot around there. 
The boy on the inside was about as scared of the 
guns as he was of my escaping, so, I began to tug and 
with the help of the other sentry was pulling myself 
through. Then the old boy on the inside admin- 
istered his trusty bayonet blade to my leg, and while 
I cannot describe the particular motion through 
which he went, I can certainly testify that he gave 
me one mighty persuasive jab. For believe me, I 
sure did back in at the rate of a mile a minute, for 
I had no further inclination whatsoever to go on out. 
I realized that duty called me at the camp, and 
while it had taken me fully five minutes to get my 
anatomy that far out — well, this little flying machine 
had a reversible propeller, that's all. 

The old boy on the inside was terribly sore, be- 
cause in climbing the fence after me he had torn 
his nice, new, green pants, yet he was over-delighted 
that he had saved himself from jail. As we walked 
up to the fence I attempted to climb the wire first, 
whereupon the old boy said, "Nicht! Nein!" and 
menaced me again with his bayonet. Needless to 
say — I unhesitatingly obeyed. I had hoped, should 



ESCAPED ALMOST 251 

I have gotten over the fence first, to run immediately 
to my bunk and fool the foxy old boy, but when he 
flashed that bayonet on me it was the halt sign of 
my new fraternity. A little blood was beginning 
to trickle down my leg and I began to feel pretty 
much like a stuck pig, so, in courtesy, I let the old 
boy climb over first and I went after him. 

On the way to Headquarters, I realized that I had 
a compass and a map and knowing what it would 
mean if these were found on me, as we walked along, 
I carefully slipped my hand in my pocket and crum- 
pled up the map. I then began to cough violently, 
whereupon I took out my handkerchief with my left 
hand and put it over my mouth, and in so doing I 
managed to put the tiny map in my mouth; then I 
chewed it up and swallowed it. I didn't know what 
gag to pull with that compass, and I didn't dare to 
swallow it. The old German who was taking me 
along didn't feel any sympathy for me, but kept 
poking me along in spite of my overemphasized limp- 
ing. Finally I deliberately stumbled and fell, but as 
I fell I threw that compass a good twenty yards 
away, and into a section of the lot where it was not 
likely to be found. Then after considerable moral 
persuasion, I got up and went over to the head- 
quarters with the feeling that in spite of the worst 1 
had saved myself, at least, two weeks in jail. 

In a very cold room, at Headquarters, they sum- 
moned the Commander of the Camp, the Officer of 
the Night, and the Officer of the Guard, and all the 
Sergeants and Corporals at the camp. Then the 



252 LUCK ON THE WING 

joint board was in session. They gathered around 
and proceeded to cause me a good deal of embarrass- 
ment because they took off all of my clothes and did 
not leave me enough in which to feel modest. Like 
a poor, belated, half -soaked, blind owl, after an April 
shower, naked from head to foot, with my face and 
hands covered with mud, I stood there waiting for 
them to finish searching my clothes, before I could 
once more become a respectable looking German 
prisoner. I also was patiently awaiting the an- 
nouncement of my penalty. It was my first attempt 
and I expected almost anything from shooting to 
hanging. 



xn 

THE PRIVILEGES OF PRISONERS 

A SERIOUS old philosopher once said that every 
man had his price. That may be true but I 
don't agree with it in principle. My early train- 
ing taught me that the man who offers a bribe is a 
lower parasite than the man who accepts it and 
experience has not altered my views. But, a more 
serious old philosopher came forth expounding the 
doctrine that everything is fair in love and in war. 
According to my way of thinking this second boy 
was on the right track. 

So, when my German captors took me down and 
with a lot of ceremony, deposited me in the camp 
calaboose, a hasty examination of the barred win- 
dows and the tremendous lock on the door almost 
convinced me that my only hope was to experiment 
with that philosophy of price, as my biggest asset 
happened to be a pocket full of prison money, which, 
if acceptable at all, would have to be disposed of 
at a discount. At any rate, I was determined to get 
out — the means might require bribery and it might 
t^equire lies. "Whatever was necessary to effect my 
atate of freedom, so long as it was honorable, was in 

253 



254 LUCK ON THE WING 

my mind the privilege of the prisoner — for it was 
fair in war. 

The cell was not so bad ; in fact, it was much bet- 
ter than the quarters I had in camp, except that I 
was alone. I had a German orderly who took care of 
me, which convenience was something foreign in the 
regular camp. First appearances were so attractive 
that I thought it unfortunate I hadn't discovered it 
before. In the morning the interpreter came around 
to see how things were going along. I told him 
"Fine, except that I wanted something to eat/' an 
habitual complaint among prisoners. There was the 
rub, for he informed me that when in solitary im- 
prisonment in jail you only receive a portion of 
German food and that under no circumstances are 
you allowed any supplemental food from the Red 
Cross. 

So, about nine o'clock this orderly brought me my 
breakfast which consisted of a bowl of Ersatz coffee 
and that was all. Believe me, the scarcity left a 
funny empty feeling in my stomach that decided the 
question at once — bribery it would be. 

In the afternoon, when one of the calaboose cor- 
porals came around on his hourly inspection, I fig- 
ured that he was a pretty good guy to play up to, 
so I knocked the old boy sick by offering him a pipe- 
ful of my real, American tobacco, which had been 
given me by a fellow prisoner, Lieutenant Shea of 
the 26th Division, who handled the Eed Cross sup- 
plies at Karlsruhe. Shea was a real guy; he was 
fearless and while under very strict German regula- 



THE PRIVILEGES OF PRISONERS 255 

tions, he always allowed his staunch Americanism to 
be seen by Germans and Americans indiscriminately. 
This German Corporal had a whopper of a pipe 
for he made a big hole in my already slim sack and 
tobacco was as scarce as desert icebergs. How his 
eyes sparkled when he lighted it. These Germans 
had been smoking ground cabbage leaves for almost 
four years and were getting mighty tired of it. 

"Sehr gut, sehr gut," he ejaculated many times, 
sniffing the old time aroma. 

Then, he warmed up and we got to talking. It 
finally dwindled from the war generally to our own 
family histories. He was in great distress. He had 
lost four sons in the war, and what he considered 
much worse, his two daughters would probably never 
be able to get husbands, for so many men had been 
killed. I thoroughly sympathized with him and 
agreed that it was all wrong to require such a sacri- 
fice of him. Then he told me what his army pay 
was — it was very small — and he said he had been in 
the war five years. I told him how much the Amer- 
ican soldiers received, which surprised him very 
much and seemed fabulous. 

His understanding was that only the poor people 
had gone to war for America — the sons of the rich 
men stayed at home; and further, that practically 
all Americans of German descent had absolutely re- 
fused to take up arms against the Fatherland. I 
refuted this latter remark as well as the first — I told 
him that both my father and mother were German, 
having both been born in Berlin, and that my father 



256 LUCK ON THE WING 

was a very wealthy man, but I had to go into the 
service because all the young men had to become sol- 
diers — the rich and poor alike had gone into the 
war and it didn't make any difference whether they 
were German-Americans, or just plain Americans, 
they had all gone. So, he asked me what I did be- 
fore the war, and being a pretender for the purpose 
I had in mind, I assumed a thoroughly shocked at- 
titude at such a question, and informed him that 
before the war, my father being very rich, I didn't 
do anything except go to college as "dad" came 
across with twenty thousand marks a year for spend- 
ing money alone. The old boy's eyes popped open 
to the size of an owl's. He thought such an allow- 
ance fabulous and criminally extravagant. I filled 
him full of a lot of this hot air about the war, and 
especially my own financial stability, for I expected 
to sooner or later establish my credit with him. 

We parted the very best of friends and to cinch 
it I gave him another pipeful of tobacco. The next 
morning the rather expected happened; he came to 
talk some more and to further test my depleted sup- 
ply of Red Cross tobacco. Our second conversation 
ended with my parting with seventy-five marks cash, 
and a promissory note for seven thousand five hun- 
dred marks, payable three months after the war, 
in consideration for which the old boy was to leave 
the outer latch open that night and slip me a screw 
driver with which to manipulate the inner latch, and, 
at my request, he arranged a guard and that after- 
noon I went out and took my first exercise. The 



THE PRIVILEGES OF PRISONERS 257 

guard was a measly, withered-up shrimp, who spoke 
quite a little English, as he had been in America. 
His knowledge of American people and of American 
customs gave me a new field of activity. He told 
me that he was on guard that night around this same 
area, about eleven o'clock, so I cautiously sounded 
him out as to whether he was particularly scrupu- 
lous or whether he might accept a little bribe. 
Laughingly, he told me that like all other men in 
the world he supposed that he had his price, but 
that it was high enough that it could not possibly 
interest me. 

"Well," I said, manifesting surprise, "you've 
heard of my father, haven't you, since you've been 
in America?" 

"No," he said. 

"What!" I ejaculated. "Oh, you certainly have 
heard of J. P. Morgan, Haslett & Co., of Wall 
Street." 

Of course, he understood the first and last parts 
and the old boy stood still in his amazement, for that 
"J. P. Morgan" and my connection therewith had 
simply hypnotized him. Suddenly he became cordial 
to the extreme. After blushing in honest modesty 
I got down to business. 

"You've been in America long enough to know 
what notes are, haven't you? If you give your note 
it's as good as gold, any time, any place, any 
where. ' ' 

"Ja," he affirmed, nodding his head. "I know 
that." 



258 LUCK ON THE WING 



"Well/' I went on, c 'all that is necessary is a 
little cash consideration given with a note and it is 
good. Just like a contract." 

He agreed perfectly. 

"Well," I said, feeling like a street-corner politi- 
cian, "name your own price." 

After considerable hemming and hawing around 
about it, he surprised me by naming five thousand 
marks, which then was about one thousand dollars, 
one hundred marks to be in cash, and my note for 
the remainder. 

He agreed to buy me a map and compass, to bring 
them in, and leave them wrapped in an old rag at the 
foot of an iron post which he pointed out; and he 
agreed that as he was to be on duty that night about 
eleven o'clock he would not see me as I went over 
the fence on his post. He told me the exact spot 
where he would be standing between eleven and 
eleven ten, so that I could avoid him. 

As to the financial arrangements he was to take 
me to the jail and then go over to the canteen at 
my request to buy me some paper, which purchase 
was approved. In the meanwhile I was to prepare 
the note and dig up the coin. 

As he came in the Corporal came with him as no 
one was supposed to enter the room without the 
Corporal, but just as he laid my purchase on the 
table the telephone rang and the Corporal had to 
step away temporarily, which gave me the oppor- 
tunity I needed. I handed the guard the piece of 



THE PRIVILEGES OF PRISONERS 259 

I.O.U. paper and a hundred marks in prisoners' 
money. The deal was closed. 

All the remainder of the afternoon I carefully laid 
my plans. This time it looked like a clean get-away, 
but there is always something to take the joy out 
of living, for about four o'clock the interpreter came 
around with the prison paymaster, who told me to 
turn in all my money for which they wrote me out 
a receipt. I decided that I had been double-crossed 
by the Corporal; the other guard would not have 
had time since the act. 

"You had more than this the morning after we 
had you searched," the paymaster said after perus- 
ing a big ledger. 

"Yes," I stumbled, "but I sent some of it back 
to one of my friends to whom I owed some money." 

Then they put all my fears to rout by telling me 
that I was leaving at five o'clock with a transport 
of prisoners, going to a permanent camp. This was 
simply hard luck, because as I figured it, it was 
absolutely impossible for either the other Corporal 
or the weazened-up old guard to give this plan of 
mine away. Furthermore, they would not have 
dared. 

Well, that was finished for me, so, I asked the in- 
terpreter where we were going, and about my sen- 
tence. Like all other Germans he pulled the Kultur 
stuff by telling me that I was being sent to a fine, 
big camp and that my penalty here was finished. So, 
he and the officer left and the door was locked behind. 



260 LUCK ON THE WING 

Immediately it was again unlocked; the old Ger- 
man Corporal came in, highly excited because he 
thought the visit of the officer meant that they had 
gotten something on him. I told him I was going 
to leave at once for a permanent camp. 

"Oh," he whispered, really surprised, "then you 
will not escape to-night." 

Upon affirming this statement that I was really 
leaving, the old fellow, to my utter surprise, looked 
around to see that no one was looking in the window, 
then closed and bolted the door behind him and 
handed me back my money and my note. Here was a 
real, decent old guy. I believed in his sincerity, and 
German or not, if I ever have a chance to do any- 
thing for that old fellow I'd do my best to do it, 
for he was absolutely honest, no matter what one 
might say as to his patriotism. I gladly gave the old 
fellow the last bit of tobacco I had and when I left 
we parted real friends. 

But, the other old fossil — of course, I didn 't have a 
chance to see him, and my one hundred marks, to- 
gether with my large note, was gone to the devil. 
Of course, I didn't worry about the note; I never 
intended to pay that any way, if for no other reason 
than the fact that it would bankrupt me even though 
the mark is not now worth much at all. 

I marched down to the train with the rest of the 
transport, and here again they sent a tag along with 
'me, telling of my bad record. They honored me 
with several guards personally assigned, while the 
rest of the party had about one guard for every 



THE PRIVILEGES OF PRISONERS 261 

four prisoners. We traveled for about thirty-six 
hours in third-class coaches and were, indeed, tired 
and worn out and sleepy. But, in spite of German 
efficiency and secret service, within a few hours after 
starting we all knew by well founded rumors that 
we were going by way of Munich to a place called 
"Landshut." 

At Munich we were taken off of the train and 
given some food, which consisted of powerful lim- 
burger cheese and a little piece of dog sausage, with 
a hunk of dainty potato bread. In spite of their 
intense hunger, some of the boys could not possibly 
go that cheese so, showing resourcefulness, I made a 
collection of it for I thought it might come in handy, 
later on. I gathered so much that I was a human 
cheese factory; I had that cheese stuck in my 
pockets, I was carrying it in my hands and I even 
had some of it securely put away in my blouse, and 
all the way from Munich to Landshut, Bavaria, as 
I had nothing else to do, I ate cheese. Believe me, 
people knew I was coming a mile away. When that 
stuff began to get a little tepid, I was a man hated 
among men; extremely unpopular for a strong 
reason. 

We were turned over to a new set of guards at the 
Landshut station and I noticed that they had lost 
my identity since I was not being given special atten- 
tion, so, I mixed right in with the rest of the pris- 
oners ; that is, until they got a good whiff. The new 
sergeant, after lining us up, walked along the lines 
calling the names and checking up the prisoners. 



262 LUCK ON THE WING 

Standing directly in front of me, with his face about 
two inches from mine, he grufny called, "Oberleut- 
nant Haslett." 

"Here!" I bellowed, whereupon the German, get- 
ting the full benefit of the cheese, staggered and 
moved on. 

I went up to the old abandoned estate known as 
"Traunitz," which was a very beautiful and his- 
toric old court. However, we did not live in the 
castle. I think it was the servants' quarters we had, 
for there were twenty-five of us in one room. 

Landshut, itself, was a lovely little town; in fact, 
one of the most beautiful I have ever seen. The 
feature was the variety of church bells. They were 
ringing day and night, and the sounds ranged several 
octaves. 

At this camp they took away our American uni- 
forms and gave us old Russian prisoners' clothes, 
with a big yellow stripe down the back of the blue 
uniform. I don 't know whether that ' ' yellow streak ' ' 
was supposed to have any real significance or not, 
but anyhow it was there. 

At Landshut was imprisoned Captain Jimmy Hall, 
the James Norman Hall who was prominent for his 
"Kitchener's Mob" and other books, and a very 
famous member of the Lafayette Escadrille. "Jim- 
my" was quite a character as he hobbled around 
the place — we all liked his wonderful democracy 

"We had only been there a day or so when they 
began to inoculate us for, I think, every known dis- 
ease. A big, fat, German Major stood there and in 



THE PRIVILEGES OF PRISONERS 263 

apparent delight, pumped serum into us like a baker 
fills creampuffs. The worst part was that he stuck 
us right in the chest. He was a good natured old 
duck who didn't seem to take things seriously. Not 
only did he vaccinate us for smallpox, but he gave 
us shots of typhoid, para-typhoid, triple typhoid, 
typhus, tetanus and cholera, and what else I do not 
know. We were to have five jabs of the stuff, but 
when I took my first one I decided then and there 
that when I took the next it would be when I was 
held and given it by force. I never received another 
jab, for every time afterwards I went in with the 
in-going line, and after my chest had been painted 
with iodine by the Assistant to the Doctor, as the 
old boy would turn around to fill his needle for the 
next man, I would quietly step over in the out-going 
line, and with many apparent indications of pain, 
passed to my bunk, 

Immediately after this first jab was given and 
before the pain and fever had a chance to take effect 
I was mixing around with the boys, having a good 
time, when in came a Sergeant who, amidst consider- 
able pomp and display, stated that the Captain com- 
manding the Camp wanted to see Oberleutnant 
Haslett at once, I asked him what the officer wanted 
to see me about, but he didn't know and I'm sure 
I didn't, although I had a good strong hunch. As 
I still had my yellow-striped uniform, I put it on and 
went over. On the way over the Sergeant sympa- 
thetically ventured to tell me for fear that I did 
not know it, that the German officers were terrible 



264 LUCK ON THE WING 

men, very strict and stern and it was to my advan- 
tage to be very careful and to be absolutely military 
and courteous. 

After considerable palavering around, the Ser- 
geant ushered me in. Seated there at his desk was 
this potentate, the Commander of the Camp. I 
hardly knew how to figure him for he was a hard 
looking customer with the squinty eyes of a China- 
man, the pugnacious pug nose of a bull dog, and the 
mouth and jaws of an ape. However, he was 
groomed to the extreme. Take it from me, he was 
some little fashion plate all of his own. This was 
a combination, to my mind, extremely difficult to 
tackle. To be perfectly frank, he almost had my 
goat to start with. The thing that bothered me most 
was the charge. 

I was a soldier the day war was declared. The day 
before I had been a hard plugging law senior in the 
University of Southern California — just counting 
the days until I could realize my life's ambition — to 
stand before a court and plead a righteous cause. 
While like all other young Americans I was happy 
to serve my country, yet at the declaration of hostili- 
ties the thing that hurt me most was the fact that 
my perfectly good legal education had all gone to the 
rocks for, as a soldier, I could not see where my law 
could possibly serve any useful purpose. 

It was Lincoln, I think, who said to be prepared 
for the opportunity so when it knocked it could be 
accepted. Well, regardless of who said it, my life's 
ambition was before me. I had always wanted to 



THE PRIVILEGES OF PRISONERS 265 

plead a righteous cause before a court — but I had 
never calculated that the righteous cause would be 
my own. This was nothing more than a court and I 
was: to be the culprit appearing in my own behalf. 

The proceedings had all the environment of a rural 
police court with the solemnity and dignity of the 
Supreme Court of the United States. So much 
pomp and red tape I never saw before in my life. 
The Sergeant went in, clicked his heels together, 
saluted smartly and proceeded to babble away in 
German. The Prussian officer looked up from his 
desk and snarled, whereupon the Sergeant saluted 
again. Then he faced about, walked four paces 
toward me, saluted and said with great feeling, "The 
Captain commanding the camp commands your 
presence." I wasn't a soldier in the true sense of 
the word. I was an aviator. I was a real snappy 
soldier once, having been graduated from the New 
Mexico Military Institute; and, having had some 
training in the line on the border and in the early 
training camps. Since my judge seemed so strong 
on display, I decided to compete for the prize, so I 
drew my shoulders back, put my chest out and pulled 
my tummy in. As if by command and, by the num- 
bers, I marched four paces forward, clicked my 
heels together and in perfect cadence brought my 
hand forward in a salute. Instead of bringing it 
down in the ordinary manner, I pushed it straight 
forward and let it slap loudly against my trousers. 
It sounded like the snapping of a champion boot- 
black's cloth as he finishes the job. The Captain 



266 LUCK ON THE WING 

stood, saluted and immediately sat down. I thought 
he would ask me to have a chair, but it wasn't being 
done by the Prussians in those days so I stood there 
strictly at attention looking directly at him like a 
tiger ready to spring. In a few moments he got up 
again, holding a document long and engrossed. 
Clearing his throat like a Chief Justice about to ren- 
der an opinion, he proceeded to babble, "Der 
Deutschen, etc." After one mouthful, he turned to 
the Sergeant and the Sergeant stiffened up even more 
rigidly and began to interpret. I cannot repeat it 
verbatim, of course, but it went something like this, 
not vouching for the accuracy of the names: 
"Whereas, I, Antonio Mark Snicklefritz, Captain of 
the Imperial German Army, duly appointed and 
ordained by the Imperial German Government 
through Wilhelm, Emperor of Germany and Poland, 
in his own name, am entrusted with the command 
of and authority over this Prison Camp at Landshut, 
Bavaria, including all allied prisoners of war there- 
in, do officially, on behalf of the Imperial German 
Government, inform you, Oberleutnant Elmer 
Haslett, Amerikaner, an Officer of the Air Service, 
that the General of the Imperial German Army, Otto 
von Beetpots, commanding the 37th Army Corps 
of the Interior, has decreed, ordered, directed and 
commanded that you have at Karlsruhe, Baden, on 
or about the fifteenth of October, at night, disobeyed, 
disregarded and broken all rules pertaining to pris- 
oners of war in that you did wilfully, maliciously, 
deliberately, and with malice aforethought, attempt 



THE PRIVILEGES OF PRISONERS 267 

to escape the confines of the Prison Camp of the 
Imperial German Government; and that in so 
doing you wilfully and maliciously destroyed and 
otherwise damaged official property of the Imperial 
German Government in that you dug or otherwise 
excavated earth from the confines of the Prison Camp 
of the Imperial German Government. Whereupon, for 
these acts you were duly sentenced to serve a period 
of solitary imprisonment, upon which imprisonment 
you entered and which sentence and imprisonment 
have not been completed. Therefore, the General von 
Beetpots, commanding the forces of the Imperial 
German Government, and of the 37th German Army 
Corps of the Interior, commands that you im- 
mediately, without delay, be placed in solitary im- 
prisonment for the unfulfilled period of your sen- 
tence." This was interpreted in twenty different 
relays and I swallowed it all and was getting pretty 
tired of standing at attention, so, as the officer 
spieled, I would stand on one foot and rest but when 
the Sergeant started to talk, I would stiffen up and 
look directly at him for the judge had his eyes fo- 
cused on none other than the prisoner. During this 
entire ceremony, the Justice of the Peace did not 
make one gesture with his hand, simply holding the 
documents in his hands, standing constantly at at- 
tention. He was more like a marble statue holding 
a scroll. 

Then, like most other courts, came the question, 
"Have you anything to say?" My inoculation was 
beginning to take effect; my lips were hot and my 



268 LUCK ON THE WING 

brow feverish, but, best, my brain was stimulated. 
I didn't intend to go to jail without a fight so I 
pitched my voice as low as possible and sounded off 
slow and deliberately for I was not talking for time. 
Indeed it was more than that. The sound of my 
voice gave me the moral courage I needed. Looking 
straight at the Prussian and attempting to improvise 
a proper form for my defense, I started out with 
something on this order: "I," and I threw out my 
chest an extra inch, "Elmer Haslett, First Lieu- 
tenant Air Service, Army of the Democratic Republic 
of the United States of America, having been en- 
trusted as an officer of the Democratic Republic of 
the United States of America with the duties, rights 
and responsibilities of an accredited officer am, of 
course, entitled to all the reciprocal courtesies of 
captured officers of belligerent nations; and, there- 
fore, as the officially authorized and duly accredited 
representative of the Democratic Republic of the 
United States of America I have the honor to submit 
to the Captain as the officially authorized and duly 
accredited representative of the Imperial German 
Government, the following answer to the matter he 
has just officially communicated to me: That I, El- 
mer Haslett, First Lieutenant, United States Air 
Service, do admit that part of the facts of the case 
stated by the General Commanding the 37th Army 
Corps of the Interior are true, especially in that I 
was captured in the act of escaping and had dug a 
tunnel, thereby indirectly destroying the property of 
the Imperial German Government, for which I was 



THE PRIVILEGES OF PRISONERS 269 

imprisoned at Karlsruhe. That during this imprison- 
ment, the officially authorized and duly accredited 
representative of the Imperial German Government 
was a Feldwebel named Schneider whom I, of course, 
had the right to presume was vested with the author- 
ity of the Imperial German Government for he had 
given me commands in the name of the Imperial Ger- 
man Government which I, of course, did not hesitate 
to obey ; he had given me privileges which I did not 
hesitate to accept and when he made any statements 
or promises, I took them as authorized and final state- 
ments and promises of the Imperial German Gov- 
ernment. Now, may it please the Captain command- 
ing the Camp to know that on leaving Karlsruhe for 
this camp, this same Feldwebel officially informed me 
that I was leaving for a new camp and, furthermore, 
that my penalty was complete for the reason that 
misdemeanors against prison camps are local, which, 
in law is known in Latin as the lex loci, and since my 
offense had only been an offense against the prison 
camp at Karlsruhe, the penalty could not be im- 
posed or served in any other camp; therefore, the 
penalty for my offense was absolutely completed. 
Therefore, since I, as the representative of the United 
States of America, had dealt with no one officially 
except this one representative of the Imperial Ger- 
man Government, I had just as much authority for 
going to jail at his command as I had for leaving 
for this new camp at his command and just as much 
right to believe that no other sentence could be 
imposed for the misdemeanor committed. Now, may 



270 LUCK ON THE WING 

it please the Captain, in view of these statements 
made to me, if any other penalty is now imposed upon 
me, it will have to be for acts against the German 
Government which I have committed at this Camp 
and unless the Captain representing the forces of 
the German Government can point out the offense I 
have committed at Landshut, under his jurisdiction, 
which warrants my further imprisonment, I, Elmer 
Haslett, as the duly accredited representative of 
the Democratic Government of the United States of 
America, do consider the imprisonment as being with- 
out cause and, therefore, absolutely illegal. There- 
fore, if the Captain as representative of the Im- 
perial German Government cares to imprison me un- 
der these circumstances, I here and now protest very 
firmly before him and request that an opportunity 
be given me to use the kind offices of the high pleni- 
potentiary minister of Switzerland, the high plenipo- 
tentiary minister of Holland, the high plenipotentiary 
minister of Spain, or other neutral representation in 
order that efforts may be exercised in my behalf be- 
fore Wilhelm, the Emperor of the Imperial German 
Government. And here and now, I request to be 
put on record before this court that I have claimed 
these rights under Article 26, Geneva Convention, 
Article 23, London Agreement, Article 88, Hague 
"War Clause and Section 41, Article 12 of the Inter- 
national Treaty of Paris, all respecting the rights 
and privileges of prisoners of war. This concludes 
my answer and I wish to thank the Captain for his 
kind courtesy in hearing this official protest. " 



THE PRIVILEGES OF PRISONERS 271 

The old boy was taken off his feet. I couldn't 
have pulled an improvised spiel like that in ten 
years had I not been keyed up with the high, raging 
fever and when I finished the reaction left me weak. 
But I was sure that the Captain commanding the 
camp was fully convinced that I knew what I was 
talking about. In fact, I felt that I could see it in 
his very attitude. The Sergeant then told me that 
the Captain would consider the proposition and let 
me know his decision. Of course, I could not wait 
to get back and tell the boys how I had foxed the 
Germans. I was just in the act of repeating and act- 
ing my long spiel to them when the door opened and 
in came the Sergeant again. "Well," I thought, 
"the old boy has come to tell me that I do not need 
to serve my penalty." " Oberleutnant Haslett," 
he called before everybody, "the Captain command- 
ing the Camp has decided that you will go to jail 
at once." Well, believe me, I could have been 
knocked over with a hair of a feather. The boys 
gave me the merry titter and the royal ha! ha! I 
tried to argue with the Sergeant but he evidently 
had my number. "Come on, pack up," he said, 
"and don't try to pull your line on me. I'm acting 
under orders." So amidst considerable personal em- 
barrassment, I picked up my few belongings, which 
consisted of a note book, a wooden back toothbrush 
and a quarter loaf of bread, and the Sergeant walked 
me over to the guard house. Here he assigned me 
a hard looking guard who, menacingly, loaded up 
his rifle right before me which, admittedly, had the 



272 LUCK ON THE WING 

moral effect intended; and then, followed by every 
boche youngster in the whole town, I was in military 
fashion marched down through the old village and 
lodged in the town jail. 

It was a whopper of a jail for a small town. "We 
went up to the third floor back, after locking three 
steel partitions behind us. We finally came to the 
cell rooms and the guard rang for the key. After 
a time, a hoary relic of the Napoleonic days shuffled 
in and with great ceremony produced the fatal steel 
and turned the lock. Whereupon I entered and auto- 
matically the door was closed behind me. This cell 
was about five feet wide and eight feet long. The 
bed, or rather the bunk, folded up against the wall 
and was locked. It couldn't be opened, although 1 
tried many times. The walls were blank and bare 
and at the rear was a high barred window with a 
slanting projection which made it even impossible to 
look out. The door was massive steel and one look 
at it convinced me that I was in a real cell in a real 
jail and I was a real jail bird. Not having had a 
great deal of experience with jails, I naturally 
thought it was a horrible place, although I am told 
it was really a very nice jail, as far as jails are con- 
cerned, but at that, it was damp, musty and cold. 
At the door was an electric push button and since 
there were no telephones or servants in attendance, 
I naturally supposed this was to call the attendant. 
Practically exhausted from my fever and the long 
walk, I sat down on a wobbly old stool and stared at 
the wall, gradually getting physically weaker, but 



THE PRIVILEGES OF PRISONERS 273 

seemingly mentally more alert. In a moment I began 
to chill and I realized that I would have to lie down. 
The bed was locked. The cold stone floor was not 
inviting so I tried to ring the buzzer and I buzzed 
intermittently for about five minutes. There was no 
response. It was a desperate situation. I had to 
lie down and still I must have some covers, so I 
wedged a match in the buzzer in order that it would 
keep on buzzing until some one answered. Then from 
sheer exhaustion and faintness I fell to the floor. This 
continued buzzing soon brought the attendant up 
and, believe me, he was very, very peeved. He came 
in, snatched the match from the push button and 
began to swear and make some furious ejaculations 
which I couldn't understand and it wouldn't have 
made much difference anyway. In reply to my in- 
sistent demands that he unlock the bed at once, he did 
nothing but say, "Nein, Nein, Seben Heur," that is, 
"No, not until seven o'clock." I asked him to 
send for the prison officer but he insisted that the 
officer would not come up. I told him that I was 
an officer myself and that I was sick and had a right 
to see an officer. He did nothing but slam the door 
in my face. Something told me I was on my last 
leg and I must soon get out of that place or some- 
thing would happen that I would never remember. 
So summoning every ounce of my remaining 
strength, shivering and chilly, I took my note book; 
and wrote an official protest couched in language 
not proper for publication, addressing it to the Span- 
ish Minister. It was a last hunch. When I finished, 



274 LUCK ON THE WING 

I again put a match in the buzzer. This time the 
old boy was certainly fierce but he had nothing on 
me. I was in the same condition myself. Like two 
tigers we came together. He cautiously opened the 
door for he knew from my previous attitude that I 
was liable to make a jump at his throat. Reaching 
his hand back to his hip so that if I started anything 
he could draw his gun, he demanded to know what 
I meant by ringing the buzzer again. Insane with 
rage and raging fever, I shook my fist in his face and 
said, "For the Officer, " whereupon I madly slapped 
myself on the chest and said, "Ich bin ein Offieeren 
Amerikaner, ' ' which, if correct, is to say, "I am an 
American Officer and must be treated as such.'' Re- 
luctantly and disgustedly, he took the paper and 
started to pull the door shut again. I staggered for- 
ward to impress upon him the fact that I needed 
medical attention at once. Too late, the door was 
closed. Whether from pure anger or from actual 
exhaustion, I don't know, but for some reason I 
simply went down to take the count. 

I was awakened by some one shaking me. Dazed, 
I got up. Three hours had elapsed. With head 
swimming, I looked around. Before me was the 
prison attendant, the Sergeant interpreter of the 
Camp and the Commanding Officer of the Camp 
with whom I had had the set-to that morning. It 
was another court but this time the ceremony on my 
part was lacking for I sat on the stool. The Captain 
straightened and again stood stiffly at attention, 
while the Sergeant interpreted: "I, Antonio Mark 



THE PRIVILEGES OP PRISONERS 275 

Snicklefritz, Captain Commanding the Prison Camp 
at Landshut, am directed by the General Command- 
ing the German Military District of Munich to inform 
you, Elmer Haslett, Oberleutnant, Air Service, 
American Army, that the General has decreed that 
you be released from solitary imprisonment until 
further orders." As expected, the "further orders' y 
never came. 



XIII 



THE modern debutante looks forward with no 
little anxiety to her "Coming Out." It is 
naturally quite an event for, veritably, she is im- 
prisoned, as it were, by the conventions which do 
not permit her to take her place among the friends 
of the inner circle until she has been formally pre- 
sented by her "coming out." 

So, the prisoners of war, even after the Armistice, 
were withheld from their friends until the "coming 
out," which consisted of the formalities of turning 
the prisoners over to their friends. Naturally, it was 
quite an event. But, believe me, no debutante could 
possibly anticipate her "coming out" with the keen- 
ness and anxiety that the American prisoners of war 
could theirs. "We, too, had planned it all — of course, 
not so much as to the clothes we would wear, but 
more especially as to the things we would eat. 

Several days previous to the signing of the Arm- 
istice, we heard that the people of Bavaria had re- 
volted, and that the will of the ' ' Soldiers and Work- 
men" was paramount. Although locked in the con- 
fines of a prison camp, the proverbial little bird 
told us that something was in the air — indeed, one 

276 



" COMING OUT" 277 

felt it in the atmosphere — for, if a new republic was 
formed, they were certainly not the enemies of the 
United States, so we would indeed soon be "coming 
out." 

The regulation cap of the German officer and sol- 
dier is adorned by two buttons in the front center — 
the top and larger button having the colors of the 
Imperial German Government in the form of a min- 
iature cocarde, while the lower and smaller button 
is made up of the colors of the German State from 
which the officer or soldier hails. Thus, all the sol- 
diers at our camp had the large German button and 
the smaller one of green and white, the colors of the 
State of Bavaria, 

One day, around the first of November, we noticed 
that all the officers and soldiers of the camp, includ- 
ing the hardb oiled Prussian Captain, had taken off 
the prominent German button. Then there was a 
definite certainty that the revolution was on. We 
did not know how loyal to the new Government the 
soldiers were going to be, and we were rather con- 
cerned as to what the attitude of the new Bavarian 
Kepublic would be toward us, for we had heard 
nothing about our release. All sorts of rumors began 
floating around that camp — some to the effect that the 
soldiers and workmen were coming up to mob us 
for being Americans, others, more popular, that they 
were coming up to release us, others that we were 
going to die of slow starvation on account of the 
shortage of food, and still others that we were going 
to be sent to Switzerland for protection. 



278 LUCK ON THE WING 

With all these things before us, a vigilance com- 
mittee was formed, and we all got together and had 
a meeting. * 'Jimmy' ' Hall, being the senior officer 
present, automatically became chairman. So, the big 
question was "For whom would we declare?" — the 
old German regime or the new Bavarian revolution- 
ary party. Naturally, on such a momentous sub- 
ject, we had quite a number of bursts of oratory, 
and a lot of arguments were laid down on both sides 
of the question, but, at the same time, neither of 
us knew anything about either of them. We viewed 
it from an economical and military phase, but most of 
all, for the present at least, we looked at it from the 
standpoint of "things to eat." 

But judged by the solemnity and seriousness of the 
conference, the destiny of the world was seemingly 
at stake, so we asked one bird, who was sort of a 
jay, what he thought about it. "Mr. Chairman," 
he said seriously, "I make a resolution that we de- 
clare that we are for the party that gets us out of 
Germany the fastest, and we don't give a damn 
which one it is. ' ' At that, the meeting almost ended 
in a riot, though in my mind the jay had absolutely 
the correct solution. Finally, it was decided that we 
would leave our fate to the council of three — the 
three most influential prisoners in camp, the con- 
trollers of the food supply, namely, the Red Cross 
Committee. 

Shortly, conditions began to get real tense around 
there, and we actually didn't know what was going 
to happen for, about our camp, the prison authori- 



"COMING OUT" 279 

ties had hoisted the red flag of Socialism. The few 
days during which that flag stayed there were the 
only days of my life that I have not been a Republi- 
can — I was a Socialist like all the rest of our boys, 
from force of circumstances. 

Amid all this excitement, we were summoned to- 
gether, and the official representative of the new revo- 
lutionary party came up to address us. Amid the 
quietness of death, the great man announced to us 
that he was now the great representative of the 
Great Revolutionary Party, and that the Great 
People of the Greater State of Bavaria hadThad a 
greatest revolution — not a bloody revolution like the 
Russians, but a quiet, orderly revolution, for realiz- 
ing that the old government had failed to take care 
of the needs of the common people, the soldiers and 
the workmen of Bavaria had gotten together and 
had overthrown the monarchy. The outcome had 
been the ideal democratic form of government — a 
Republic — and the revolution had been entirely 
successful, for the soldiers and workmen were in 
complete authority and command and the old regime 
had been entirely displaced. " Indeed/ ' he said, 
"everybody realized the inevitable and made no at- 
tempt to stop the onward movement, and such a 
thing as mob violence or shooting has been un- 
heard of." 

He had just started on his next sentence when, 
down in the town, a machine gun sputtered. We had 
been hearing pot shots occasionally for some time. 
So we all began to laugh. It was a rather embarrass- 



280 LUCK ON THE WING 

ing situation, and the old boy immediately modified 
his statement to the effect that in rare instances 
there had been a little shooting. Then he went on 
and blabbered about fifteen minutes more as to the 
aims of the new Government, what it had in mind, 
how it wished especially to be the friend of America 
and the good things it was going to do for the pris- 
oners, and, as a Republic, the prisoners would, of 
course, be released. Here was the one thing that 
interested us, so, at this with one voice the pris- 
oner colony responded, as if to a yell leader, 
"When!" The great man was almost taken off his 
feet by the anxious debutantes anticipating the 
"coming out.' , » 

"Of course," he went on graciously, "those are 
details that will have to be arranged later." Our 
release may have been simply regarded as a detail 
to him, but we held it much more important. In 
fact, the situation looked so serious to us that only 
the continual talk of the general armistice kept the 
bunch from attempting a wholesale "coming out." 

Finally, the armistice came, and that day was the 
greatest of my whole life — not so much for the rea- 
son that I would soon be released, but because I 
was in a position to observe the Germans in abso- 
lute misery. I have heard a lot of people say that 
their arrogance was not affected by the armistice, 
but that is all bunk. They were humiliated to the 
extreme — they whined around like a pen of stuck 
pigs — they thought the terms of the armistice were 
terrible, inhumane, and impossible. As usual, they 



"COMING OUT" 281 

blamed it all on England. I could have stayed there 
for months just enjoying their misery in crying over 
the terrible terms laid down. 

I was getting good and sick of the Germans, as 
such, for they had worked some good gags on us at 
that camp at Landshut. They took all our clothes, 
including shoes, to have them fumigated in order, 
as they said, to safeguard the health of the camp, 
and, as a substitute, they issued us old Russian pris- 
oner uniforms. For shoes, they gave us some toy 
paper bedroom slippers, which could be bought in 
an American novelty store for a dime. To our sur- 
prise, in a few days these clothes were returned to 
us, unfumigated, in fact, untouched except thor- 
oughly searched. It was the typical shell game under 
the guise of Kultur, for, at the end of the month, 
we found that we had been charged three dollars for 
the said shoes, and, since the Germans controlled 
the prisoners' exchequer, the transaction would not 
permit of any argument. 

Another time, I was soaked outright. The officer 
at my previous prison camp at Karlsruhe gave me 
a receipt for my fast dwindling purse. When I 
presented this receipt at Landshut, the authorities 
stated that they had no record of it, but that, if I 
would turn over this receipt to them, they would 
send it to Karlsruhe for verification. Like a boob, 
I turned the receipt over, and I have never seen it 
or the money since. I demanded the money several 
times afterwards, but demands, when a prisoner, do 
not carry a great deal of pull. 



282 LUCK ON THE WING 

Shortly after the armistice, the orders came for 
us to be taken to another camp, preparatory to our 
"coming out." Our Bed Cross food supply had 
been running short for some time, and, just the way 
things always happen, a carload of food arrived for 
us the day we started for the new camp. On our 
trip, they sent the customary number of guards 
along, including the sergeant interpreter of the 
camp, whose name was Kapp, and who was in charge 
of the party. The railways were congested, as they 
usually were in Germany, so Herr Kapp sat in our 
compartment, and his presence eliminated the neces- 
sity of the objectionable guards. 

Herr Kapp was a well-to-do German of the middle 
class, an artist by profession, well educated, and 
about forty years old. The only objection I had to 
Kapp was that, like most other Germans, he was an 
habitual liar. However, he tried to be a good fellow, 
which was decidedly in his favor, and there was one 
other good thing about him — his unusually good 
sense of humor. 

Realizing the uniqueness of our position, which 
happens only once in a couple of centuries, namely, 
being a member of the victorious army about to 
pass from the hands of the enemy, I sought to en- 
gage Herr Kapp in honest, frank conversation, since 
there could now be no reason for deceptions. After 
a while, he opened up, so I asked him when he con- 
sidered the German cause was at its best. He said 
that it was undoubtedly in the early part of the 
War, when the Germans were at the gates of Paris. 



"COMING OUT" 283 

I asked him when he thought the tide had turned, 
and he said that the German people realized, on July 
18, 1918, when the Allies attacked between Chateau- 
Thierry and Soissons, that thereafter Germany was 
fighting the War on the defensive. 

"What," I asked, "was the attitude of the Gei> 
man people toward their prospects of victory when 
America entered the War?" 

"Well," he calmly replied, "to a large number of 
the common people who, of course, read the Govern- 
mental propaganda, they only considered it as a big 
bluff, for they reasoned that it would be impossible 
for America to transport her army overseas. You 
see," he went on, "the reports of the sinking of 
allied ships by our submarines had been greatly ex- 
aggerated, and the general public honestly thought 
that America could do no more harm as a belligerent 
than she could as a neutral, for she was so unpre- 
pared that, before she could possibly raise an army, 
the Von Tirpitz U-boat warfare would have brought 
the Allies to their knees. But," he continued em- 
phatically, "to us educated and thinking Germans, 
we quite well knew that, when America declared war, 
it was all over for us unless we succeeded in cap- 
turing Paris, which, of course, would paralyze the 
French Railway System, and cut off the Allies' 
means of transportation and supply to the front. 
This was the reason for our big spring drive. It was 
a last hope, and we banked everything on its suc- 
cess. America won the war for the Allies." 

"Herr Kapp," I said, "do the German people 



284 LUCK ON THE WING 

realize that America entered the war from purely 
unselfish reasons — only as a matter of principle — 
and that they expect to gain nothing materially ? ' ' 

"Oh," he laughed sarcastically, "how could any 
nation make the sacrifice that America was prepared 
to make and yet expect to gain nothing material 
from it. That is not to be expected. But," he con- 
tinued, "the truth of the matter is this. Your 
President had made us so many promises, so many 
speeches in which he stated that he was the friend 
of the German people that, when it came to the 
worst, we took him up — for the German people ex- 
pected that he would make good on some of his ut- 
terances, but, when the terms of the armistice were 
made public, they knew that either Wilson had been 
overruled, or that the German people had been a 
bunch of suckers and had bitten the wrong bait." 

"But at that," he emphasized, "the Germans feel 
no natural animosity toward the Americans, but they 
hate the French and despise the English." 

Kapp told us that our destination was Villingen, 
which was a prison camp in the State of Baden. 
The journey was very slow on account of the conges- 
tion, so the day before we arrived there, as we were 
sidetracked at one town, Kapp left us to call Land- 
shut on the long distance. When he returned, we 
knew that something was terribly wrong — he was as 
pale as a ghost. Poor old Kapp! I never saw a 
man so nervous and upset. He acted like a rooky 
after being bawled out by a drill sergeant, and he fid- 
geted and twisted like an old maid about to say the 



"COMING OUT" 285 

words "I do." Finally, I summoned enough cour- 
age to ask him what it was all about, for I thought 
perhaps that hostilities had been resumed. 

"Anj^thing wrong, Herr Kapp?" I asked. 

"Wrong!" he ejaculated bitterly. "Hell, every- 
thing's wrong!" 

1 ' What do you mean ? " we all anxiously asked, for 
his attitude was just cause for alarm. 

"Well," he went on, "I have just called Land- 
shut and they are demobilizing the camp to-day, and 
the men are all going to their homes." 

"What's the matter with that?" I inquired, for 
this was to my mind the natural thing to do. 

"Oh, my," he said, surprised at our lack of un- 
derstanding, "That car of Red Cross food arrived 
for you prisoners, and the rest of the camp officials 
will hook it all before I get back to get my share. ' ' 

All the way on the journey, Kapp had talked 
about the very nice girl he knew in Villingen, and 
that he was surely going to visit her for a few days 
before he returned to Landshut. So, as we were 
pulling into Villingen, I told Kapp that I certainly 
hoped he would have a pleasant visit with his girl 
friend at Villingen. 

"Visit nothing," he came back emphatically, "I'm 
going to turn you prisoners over to the authorities 
here and take the first train back to Landshut. 
There may yet be a little of that Red Cross food 
left." 

Villingen was a real prison camp — believe me it 
was, compared to those we had been in. They had 



286 LUCK ON THE WING 

real spring mattresses, a prisoners' orchestra, a cou- 
ple of pianos, a library, a tennis court, hand-ball 
court, basket-ball court, nice place to walk in, and 
a nice kitchen where prisoners could cook their own 
recipes, and best of all, they had quite a lot of 
Red Cross food, even butter. I regretted a plenty 
that ail my prison life had not been spent at that 
camp, for it was the best I had seen. 

"When we got to Villingen, we received a fresh 
supply of rumors as to just when we were going to 
be released. "With all this anticipation, the days 
were unusually long, for every day was filled with 
added promises which the Germans never fulfilled. 
So, after we had been there a few days, I began to 
think we never were going to get out if we waited 
for the help of the Germans. So, I decided to have 
my own " coming out." 

I tried to escape for three nights straight, even 
getting so far as to breaking the lock on an aban- 
doned gate and cutting the barbed wire enclosing the 
windows, but something always went wrong. Every 
time we had to run on account of being discovered 
by the guards. The fourth day, an American Ar- 
tillery colonel, who was the senior officer of the pris- 
oners, called a meeting and stated that the Germans 
had turned the government of the prisoners over to 
him, and, as commanding officer, he forbade any 
more attempts to escape. I thought then and I think 
now that the Colonel was entirely without his rights. 
The armistice did not affect our status of prisoners, 
for there was still a state of war, and, as long as 



"COMING OUT" 287 

there is a state of war, to my mind there is a cor- 
responding duty on the part of all prisoners to re- 
turn to their own forces; and no superior officer, 
regardless of rank, has the right to excuse the failure 
of any prisoner to perform this duty, and certainly 
not to forbid even attempting the performance. This 
Colonel stated that, as commanding officer, he had 
given the parole of all the prisoners. This was again 
absolutely the assumption of rights not his own. 
This assumption of our personal privileges as men 
and soldiers was the only thing that kept several of 
us from again trying to escape, for a man's word 
of honor is too serious a thing to permit juggling 
with, even when given away without his consent. 

Finally, the orders came to leave, and one bright 
morning they assembled us, the Air Service officers 
being last — probably because that was where we 
stood in the estimation of the American Artillery 
colonel. The German officer in charge of the camp 
came out and made a speech about the great friend- 
ship of the German and American people, in which 
he said that the Allies and Germans were both vic- 
torious — Germany's victory being in that she had 
found a new Republic. But it was not a time for 
speechmaking — it was a time for action for us, and, 
like a bunch of race horses, we pawed the earth to 
get a head start for that train. 

To our surprise, they had first-class coaches to 
carry us out of Germany, although they had taken 
us in and moved us around in everything from cattle 
cars to third and fourth class coaches. 



288 LUCK ON THE WING 

We got to Constanz, on the border of Switzerland, 
and, of course, expected to change trains and go 
right ahead. To our disappointment, we found that 
the Americans had not made any preparations to 
carry us through Switzerland, and we had to wait 
at Constanz a couple of days until the Americans 
showed some speed. Believe me, I damned America 
right, left, laterally, and longitudinally for their lack 
of preparation. I afterwards was very sorry and 
found that it was not the fault of the Americans 
at all. But I was mighty peeved to be forced to eat 
11 Bully Beef" in Germany on Thanksgiving. 

I think it was about five o'clock, on the morning 
of the thirtieth of November, that we crossed the 
border, and believe me I never want to hear such 
pandemonium again as those two hundred Amer- 
ican prisoners gave as we were pulled out of Ger- 
many, and were actually again in the hands of 
friends. We had shaken hands with our hostess at 
the "coming out/' for I didn't see a single house 
along our railroad all through Switzerland from five 
in the morning until midnight that did not have 
the American flag waving. Everywhere were men, 
women and children madly waving handkerchiefs 
and flags as that train went by. 

I felt as if I were in heaven. It was wonderful 
of Switzerland, but, of course, it was the fact that 
we represented the Great America which caused the 
demonstration as they had a sincere respect for our 
friendship. 

At Berne, the ladies of the American Red Cross 



"COMING OUT" 289 

met us and served us hot roast chicken. Take it 
from me, it was good. Everyone had a ravenous 
appetite. When we were filled to the brim, the boys 
got together and appointed me yell leader, and we 
gave fifteen " raws' ' for the Eed Cross, the Y. M. 
C. A., the Salvation Army, Switzerland, Berne, the 
Allies, and the U. S. A. The natives thought perhaps 
that we were lunatics, but those who understood 
America knew it was the only immediately available 
way we had of expressing our appreciation. So we 
repeated our performance at Lucerne, and at 
Lausanne, and at Geneva. 

Hours meant nothing to the austere Swiss on that 
night, for when we pulled into Geneva at 11 P. M., 
there was the same tremendous crowd, with American 
flags, good cheer, and things to eat. All the way 
along, even from the first, it was the same. At one 
little town where we stopped for the engine to get 
water, there was only one little store near the rail- 
road, but the Swiss man who ran it gave us every 
bit of wine he had in there, which was about thirty 
bottles, and then began to feed us cookies. He could 
speak nothing but German, which was "Alles for den 
Amerikaner, ' ' meaning "Everything for the Amer- 
icans." And he seemed pleased to have the oppor- 
tunity to do it. In that part of Switzerland, they 
speak German, but, of course, around Lausanne and 
Geneva, French is the common tongue. 

But it was a real "coming out." In fact, it was 
Caesar's Triumphal March, Woodrow Wilson's en- 
trance into Paris, and Pershing on Fifth Avenue, 



290 LUCK ON THE WING 

all combined, for we were the King Bees when it 
came to Swiss chocolate, and they certainly handed it 
out. I became so ill that I could barely navigate, 
but it all seemed so much like a dream that I con- 
tinued to consume chocolate whether I wanted to or 
not for fear the dream would end. 

On the morning of December first, we crossed the 
border at Bellegarde. There was a big hospital 
train waiting to meet us, but, for some reason of 
other, their orders would not permit them to pull 
out before six or seven that evening. Our destina- 
tion was some hospital near Dijon. That didn't 
sound interesting to me. I was tired of being con- 
fined, and I felt that it was my duty to join my 
organization for the war was still on. So, I took 
some of my most valued friends into my confidence, 
and relieved them of every cent of money they had, 
from pfennigs to souvenirs, which I finally got ex- 
changed, and got enough French money to get a 
third-class passage to Paris. 

So, when the Geneva-Paris express pulled in, I 
took my seat. My clothes must have been awful, for 
I noticed the poor peasant women taking unpleasant 
sniffs at me. However, my pride had long since 
ceased to be on my sleeve, so I sniffed right back at 
'em. Just before we left, I was sitting back there 
in that third-class compartment, packed up in a cor- 
ner like an oiled sardine, when, outside in the com- 
panion way I noticed a distinguished looking man, 
well dressed, with a big diamond flashing. Certainly 
he belonged in a first-class compartment, and I won- 



''COMING OUT" 291 

dered what he was doing back there among us com- 
mon peasants. As he stood there a newsboy came 
along, hollering "La Liberte," and since the sight 
of a well-dressed man had recalled to my mind the 
fact that I, too, had once been more or less of a gen- 
tleman who could afford a newspaper, I shopped the 
boy. "Gareon," I said, "donnez moi un journal." 
That is, "Give me a paper." The lad handed me a 
paper and also his hand, and so I reached in my 
pocket and realized that I had spent my last sous 
for that railroad ticket. Quite embarrassed, I handed 
the paper back and told him I didn't want the 
paper after all. This man on the outside looked in, 
and to my great surprise spoke up in English. 
"Well," he smiled, "you look like an American." 
"Yes, sir," I replied, "I am an American." 

"Well," he continued, offering his hand, "I'm an 
American too. Boggs is my name." I extended my 
fist and said, "My name is Lieutenant Haslett." 

"Lieutenant?" he said, with surprise, looking for 
my insignia of rank. "I must say you look more 
like a buck private." Whereupon I found it was 
necessary to explain that I had been a prisoner and 
had just gotten out. He bought the paper for me 
from the anxious news kid and came across then and 
offered to give me money or anything else I needed. 

Modestly I responded that I really didn't need it; 
that I would be all right, for when I got back to 
Paris the next morning I would soon be fixed up. 
Mr. Boggs insisted that I come up to the first-class 
compartment to meet some very charming American 



292 LUCK ON THE WING 

women and some French countesses. I must admit 
that, even though I did have a lot of self-pride in 
not wanting to make my appearance under such dis- 
advantageous conditions, yet the opportunity to talk 
to a real American woman sounded like soft music 
to my ears. 

I was on the point of declining when he pulled 
out a real havana cigar, which certainly would have 
cost him a couple of dollars at the Cafe de Paris or 
"Ciro's." 

1 ' Here, ' ' he said, handing it over, ' ' you must want 
this, since you have probably not had a real cigar for 
a long time." 

I could not resist this invitation, and when I put 
my teeth on that cigar and took the first puff I con- 
descended right away to permit the charming ladies 
to be presented to me. The first thing the ladies did 
was to offer me a piece of chocolate. I would not 
have touched chocolate for a thousand dollars, for I 
had had so much of it in Switzerland that it was 
almost obnoxious. However, I could not tell them 
that I had been fed up or they would not have had 
so much sympathy for me, for what I especially 
craved was sympathy and what I most especially de- 
sired was to be petted. So I told them that I was 
very sorry that I couldn't accept their chocolate for 
the reason that the doctor had told me not to eat any- 
thing at all until I had gone to the specialist at Paris 
to see if anything was wrong with my stomach. 

I soon realized what a bonehead remark I had 
made, for shortly afterwards Countess B pulled 



" COMING OUT" 293 

out some lovely club sandwiches. There were tears 
of regret in my eyes as my mouth watered like a 
spring — but that doctor gag was my story and I had 
to stick to it. 

We talked quite a while and I smoked another one 
of this American's good cigars, and then, by means 
of my olfactory sense, I realized that my clothes 
were making the air a little uncomfortable in there, 
so I excused myself and told them that I wished to 
go back to my compartment, as I felt awfully em- 
barrassed looking so poorly among such lovely and 
refined people. Of course, they insisted that I stay 
in their compartment the remainder of the night, as 
there was plenty of room and I could stretch out and 
rest my weary bones while they should, like good 
angels, watch over me. This sounded real, but I 
knew from a personal standpoint that my welcome 
had expired as soon as they had seen the curiosity, 
namely, the prisoner of war, and that it would be 
more comfortable for all concerned that I hie me 
back among the peasants. 

I had been to Paris quite a number of times. The 
old saying was that "all roads lead to Rome," but 
the new one of the American Army was "all Army 
orders read to Paris, ' ' it being an unwritten law that 
all army travel orders were via Paris. So in my 
visits I had naturally learned the customs and rules 
with respect to reporting to our Military Police of 
Paris. 

The old rule upon entering Paris was that if you 
intended to stay over twenty-four hours you must 



294 LUCK ON THE WING 

go to 10 Eue St. Anne, which was the headquarters 
of the Provost Marshal of the American Military 
Police, and register, stating your hotel, the nature 
of your business, when you were leaving, and the 
time. If you did not intend to stay twenty-four 
hours or over you did not need to register. Of course, 
I generally managed to stay twenty-three hours and 
fifty-nine minutes, at which time I was generally 
broke and had to leave. But this morning, when I 
arrived at the Gare de Lyons, I was confronted with 
a tremendous and complete surprise. Preceding me 
was a line of about fifty officers, ranging in rank 
from Colonel to Second Lieutenant, and on down to 
privates, and in front of them was a big desk and 
two bigger M. P.'s presided over by an officious look- 
ing Second Lieutenant, and above them a sign : 

"New Regulations, G.H.Q. — No officers or enlisted 
men under the rank of Brigadier General will be al- 
lowed to leave this station or enter Paris without first 
registering here, giving authority for travel, hotel, 
nature of business, and when officer or man will leave 
the city. 

"By order of General Pershing/ ' 

Stunned and shocked, I stood on the side lines 
and watched. Every one who passed this desk 
showed written orders and was given a little blue 
check which the M. P.'s seemed to honor. Things 
sure looked both black and blue for me. I had no 
insignia whatever — from appearances I was a private 
and my uniform was as dirty as a coal scuttle, but 



" COMING OUT" 295 

at the same time they could tell I was an American. 
I certainly looked like the last rose of summer after 
the first winter frost. I figured the small chance I 
would have of talking my way through that Lieu- 
tenant Provost Marshal. Just as sure as could be 
they would take me up to 10 Rue St. Anne and 
quarantine me, fumigate me, and hold me for orders. 
It was the old Army game of waiting for orders, 
and, believe me, that wasn't the object of my visit 
to Paris. I realized that if I once got to my hotel I 
could spend a couple of days there without even 
being seen or known and could eat to the limit of my 
bank account. I felt that under the circumstances 
General Pershing would bear me out, provided I 
could get that high up in presenting my case. 

So I decided to make a reconnaissance of the 
station, hoping for better luck. I sauntered around, 
by every exit, and there was either a Frenchman 
there who wouldn 't let me by or there was an Ameri- 
can who, of course, wouldn't budge. I thought of 
getting on an outgoing train and being pulled down 
to the yards and leaving by that way. So I began to 
walk down the tracks. Finally I found an open gate 
where the tracks enter for the freight depot. 

' ' Well, ' ' I thought, ' ' this will be easy ! " I started 
to walk through when I saw standing in the sentry 
box a hardb oiled buck private — an American. In 
his hand he had a regular New York billy stick. He 
saw me, and it was too late to turn back. He walked 
out and stuck out his jaw, like a bulldog, and said, 
"Hey, guy, where you goin'?" Of course, he 



296 LUCK ON THE WING 

couldn't tell me from a private, so I got just as hard- 
boiled as he was and stuck out my jaw and said, 
" Hello, Buddie! What are you doin'?" " Where 
yuh going ?" he demanded gruffly. " Damned if I 
know, Bud," I growled. "I'm getting tired of hang- 
ing around Paris. I'm tired of it. I want to get to 
the front or where the front was. You know, Buddie, 
they told me when they drafted me into the Army 
I'd get to the front. I've never even heard a gun 
fire. I've been stationed in the rear all the time, 
and now the blamed war is over, and I ain't never 
seen none of it. I'll go back, and my girl will say, 
'Reuben, tell me about the war; what were you in?' 
And, Buddy, won't I feel like the devil when I have 
to 'fess up and tell them that I was a soldier in 
Paris?" 

I looked at his arm, and I saw that he had a wound 
/stripe. "Looky there!" I snapped out proudly. 
"You've got a wound stripe, ain't yuh?" "Yep," 
he replied, equally proud. "Gosh, you're lucky," I 
said assuringly. "You've been to the front; tell me 
about it, for I ain't never had no chance to talk to 
a real red-blooded guy what's been to the front yet." 

This was the prize stroke, for he broke loose and 
told me his whole story. He said he had been at 
Chateau-Thierry, in the Second Division, and was 
sore because the Marines got 'all the credit for it, 
while, as a matter of fact, it was his own regiment 
that did all the dirty work. He himself, according 
to his story, had attacked a machine gun nest alone, 
had got ten prisoners, and, incidentally, got wounded 



"COMING OUT" 297 

in the hip. I impressed upon him how lucky he was 
to have gotten through it alive; then I glanced at 
his chest and I saw upon it the green and yellow rib- 
bon meaning Mexican Border Service. 

"What decoration is that?" I asked, curiously, 
1 ' the Medal of Honor f " " No, ' ' he said, boisterously 
putting his finger on the ribbon. "You know what 
that is, don't you?" "No," I affirmed, "I ain't 
never seen no decorations." "Well," he said, real- 
izing he had an easy one, "why, that's the Croix de 
Guerre." I gripped him by the hand and slapped 
him on the shoulder and told him he was the most 
interesting man and the bravest man that I had ever 
met and that I sure wanted to meet him again, but 
that I had to browse on to-day and we would get to- 
gether some night when we got paid and go to the 
Folies Bergere and see the theater. So the old boy 
offered me a chew of tobacco, took one himself and 
again proudly shaking his hand I passed on. 

I had to walk all the way up to town because I 
didn't have any money to hire a taxi, nor could I 
even pay my carfare. Finally I got up to the Place 
de 1 'Opera, where I went into my American bank 
and wrote out a check for about two hundred and 
fifty francs, as I still had a little money on deposit 
there. As is the custom with those very shrewd and 
careful French bank clerks, the Frenchman took the 
check back to consult the books to see if I had that 
much money on credit. When he came back he looked 
at me suspiciously over the top rims of his spectacles 
and said accusingly, "Where did you get that 



298 LUCK ON THE WING 

check ?" "Well," I replied, surprised at his atti- 
tude, "where do you suppose I got it. I just now 
wrote it." "Be careful," he answered sarcastically, 
"don't lie." "Where do you get that noise?" I de- 
manded, thoroughly insulted. "Well," he insisted, 
"we won't cash that check. That man is dead." 
"Who's dead?" I asked sharply. "Well, you see," 
he explained, "our books report that Elmer Has- 
lett was killed in action September 30, 1918." 
"Well," I laughed, appreciating the joke, "I'm the 
guy — been a prisoner of war and have just gotten 
back and, as is to be expected, I've got to have some 
money." "All right," he answered, as if about to 
accommodate me, "you prove that you are Elmer 
Haslett." "I've no papers on me, of course," and 
I puzzled for a second. "You see, I've been a pris- 
oner of war, but just compare my signature with any 
previous ones." That wasn't sufficient evidence for 
him, so I asked him to suggest the means of identity. 
" It is very simple, ' ' he explained. ' ' Get the Military 
Police at 10 Rue St. Anne to state that you are Elmer 
Haslett." Of course, the prospect of appearing 
at 10 Rue St. Anne was out of the question, for rea- 
sons stated. I must try new means to obtain the 
wherewithal. With new hopes, I walked over to the 
Hotel Chatham. They had changed clerks there and 
so when I asked for a room the clerk told me very 
politely that they had none. I knew then they simply 
considered me as an undesirable guest on account of 
my appearance, but I also knew that if I had a 
chance to get a room in Paris at all on my present 



"COMING OUT" 299 

appearance it would have to be at the Chatham, 
where I had previously been known. I told the clerk 
that I had been at the Chatham many times and that 
they certainly knew me, that my name was Elmer 
Haslett. "Oh, yes, yes," he said politely, "we know 
you, Mr. Haslett, but we simply have no rooms." I 
asked to see the proprietor, but he wasn't in. Things 
looked rather bad, when along came the dignified old 
concierge. Just as big as could be, I walked up 
and extended my hand to the concierge. "How are 
you, Henry?" I said, about to embrace him. 
He drew back in amazement, looking at me like 
a powerful judge looks at an overfriendly bol- 
shevik. But I had his hand, so he couldn't get 
loose. ''Well, sir," he said sternly, "I don't think 
I've ever seen you before." I thought of all the 
woes of poor old Rip Van Winkle — I too had actually 
changed. But I couldn 't give up. ' ' Come on, Henry, 
come on," I said. "You know me — I'm Haslett, who 
used to be here with Len Hammond." "Oh," he 
blustered, equally shocked, "I know Lieutenant Has- 
lett, but you're not Lieutenant Haslett." "I beg 
your pardon, but I am," I replied, getting a little 
heated. "I'm getting tired of having people tell me 
I'm not. Now what I want, Henry, is a room, and 
the clerk says he has no rooms, and I know damned 
well he has. I look like the devil, I know. But 
listen," and I whispered in his ear. "Don't tell it, 
but I have just gotten back from Germany, where I 've 
been a prisoner of war, and I don't want the news- 
papers to know it because I want to have a few days 



300 LUCK ON THE WING 

rest. You go up and tell him I'm all right and want 
a room. You know me, Henry. I'll fix it up right 
with you." The prisoner sympathy stuff did not 
have the pull with Henry as the magic little words 
"I'll fix it right with you." That seems to get by 
everywhere. So the old boy went over and fixed it up 
and assigned me to one of the nicest rooms they had. 
For the rest of the morning I kept two servants busy 
bringing me food and charging it to my bill. Then 
I wrote a check, dating it before my capture, and pro- 
ceeded to send it to the concierge. He cashed it and 
then life was a little more easy. 

Just as I was leaving the hotel I ran on to some 
of my friends — the first boys I had seen since I left 
Germany, and, of course, they wouldn't let me leave, 
but took me up and bought me a big dinner. They 
took me to the Cafe de Paris and, believe me, I was 
some sensation, for while I had been eating and had 
eaten plentifully those few days, I still had a lot to 
make up for and I had a huge appetite. In fact, it 
was a continuing appetite. The bill at the Cafe for 
the three of us was something like $45.00, because I 
ordered everything they had, which, of course, in- 
cluded the necessary emoluments, and fixtures, and 
all the dainty and choice things both in season and 
out. Finally I tore loose and took a taxi down to the 
Gare de l'Est, where I found practically the same 
situation as at the Gare de Lyons, only that you had 
to show orders before you could purchase a ticket. 
My train left at 3:00 o'clock and it was now about 
five minutes before time for the train to pull out. I 



"COMING OUT" 301 

knew it would be impossible to go through the red 
tape of getting a ticket 0. K.'d, for I had the big 
chance of being held. I rushed up to the ticket win- 
dow and asked for a ticket to Bar-le-Duc. The lady 
shook her head and tried to tell me in English that 
it was impossible to sell tickets to the Americans 
without a purchase authorization check. With ap- 
parent surprise I demanded in French that she speak 
French or Belgian. Thinking that I was making re- 
marks about her rotten English, she proceeded to 
tell me the same in French. ' ' Ha ! ha ! ha ! Madame, ' ' 
I laughed. "You make me laugh very much. That 
is very funny. I am very pleased at your compliment. 
Do you think I am American or Belgian ?" I had 
almost forgotten my French, but it came in very good 
play, for she fell for it, demanded my pardon most 
profusely and immediately forked over a ticket. It 
was just about time for the train. I knew I couldn't 
pull any smooth gag on this hardboiled M. P., so I 
started to rush through, handing him my railroad 
ticket. "Hey," and he grabbed me, "where are you 
going?" "I'm going to take this train for Bar-le- 
Duc," I replied hurriedly. "Well," he demanded, 
" where's your yellow ticket?" "What yellow 
ticket?" I said, surprised that such a thing even 
existed. "You've got to have a yellow ticket before 
you can pass through this gate," he said, emphati- 
cally and not permitting argument. "Here, here's 
my railroad ticket, ' ' I repeated nervously, casting my 
eyes on the train. "I don't care," he said in a voice 
indicating that his patience was about gone, " where 's 



302 LUCK ON THE WING 

your yellow ticket?" "I haven't got one," I re- 
plied. "I didn't know I had to have that." "You 
go back there," and he pointed to one of the win- 
dows and explained in detail as to one who was good 
and dense, "see the M. P. and get your orders stamped 
and he will give you a yellow ticket, and you can't 
get by this gate until you do." "Oh, Hell! Come 
on, Buddy," I said, "I can't do all that. I'm just 
coming back from leave. If I do all that I'll miss 
my train. Come on, Bud, let me by. Why, I'll get 
K. P. for a week if I don't get there to-night. It's 
my last chance. You wouldn't hold up a buddy that 
way, would you?" and believe me, I looked appeal- 
ingly. He looked at me a moment. The conductor 
was already blowing his little whistle signal and then 
he gave up. "Go on! The war is over," he said. 
It was the example of the American soldier and the 
big soft spot they have for their buddies. He couldn't 
resist the chance to help a pal. So I passed the gates 
and got on the train and went to Bar-le-Duc. On the 
train I ran onto a guy I knew and we talked over old 
times and I got to Chaumont-sur-Aire, which was the 
old headquarters, and I ran in and saw my old friend, 
Philip Roosevelt, who was then the Army Pursuit 
Operations Officer. Then I got on the telephone and 
called Brereton, who was then up at Longuyon pre- 
paring to move to Treves with the Army of Occupa- 
tion. He was Chief of Staff for General Mitchell, 
who was then commanding the Aviation of the Army 
of Occupation. "Is this Major Brereton?" I said 
from force of habit, for he was a Major when I knew 



"COMING OUT" 303 

him last. "Yes — Colonel Brereton," he corrected. 
"This is Lieutenant Haslett," I called. "WHO?" 
he fairly yelled. "Lieutenant Haslett," I replied. 
"Who do you mean," he demanded — "Elmer?" 
' ' Yep, ' ' I said, ' < that 's right. " " Lieutenant Hell ! ' ' 
he called in old form, "you've been promoted for 
months and I've been waiting for a month to be 
decorated with you for Chateau-Thierry." "Well, 
let's not argue over technicalities," I answered. 
"How am I going to get up there?" "How are you 
going to get up here?" he repeated, very surprised. 
"Yes," I replied, "how am I going to get up there?" 
"Well, Elmer," he said, in his same grand old voice, 
"you're going up in the King's carriage." So he 
immediately sent one of General Mitchell's cars all 
that distance, and after traveling practically all 
night over those terrible roads, the next morning at 
breakfast I had my * ' coming out. ' ' I was back among 
friends — the dearest friends that man can have — 
those who with you have upheld the flag and who 
with an unfaltering trust have faced the common 
enemy. 



THE END 
















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